


All the benefits of staying warm.

by barthelme



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Dorm Sex, Enemies to Lovers, Freshman Timmy, Frottage, Hotdog emojis, Liz is the best friend we all need, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nick is a saint again, RA Armie, Secret Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Timmy is dramatic AF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22377322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barthelme/pseuds/barthelme
Summary: Timmy (who totally doesn't have a crush on Armie and, you know, definitely hates him and his broad shoulders and stupid jokes) and Armie (who is usually a ray of god damn sunshine at all times and can he justnot) get stranded in a blizzard on the way back to campus after Thanksgiving break. What will happen when they get back to campus and not only have to learn to share a living space but also face what transpired in the cabin?a.k.a: Cabin Dick.
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 827
Kudos: 543





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic since August. It was going to be my Big Bang fic and then I got sick of it while simultaneously loving it and decided I didn't want to rush just to get it posted. Anyways, I have about 20k written and I'll update once a week to start and hopefully keep that up as I move forward. Enjoy!

Like most things, this is all Armie's fault.

Timmy huffs a breath. Tries not to notice just how foggy the air turns.

(It's almost opaque, for the record, and fuck this. Fuck the snowbank Armie ran into, the smoke billowing from the front of the god damn Buick that looks like it could--but shouldn't--apply for collector's plates, and fuck Armie.)

"If you don't have--" Timmy starts, shoving his hands into his sweatpants pockets. He wishes he'd chosen jeans this morning. But sweatpants were more comfortable. It was a long drive. He wanted a _nap_. A nap, which seems ridiculous now. He could die out here. It's bear country.

"I _have_ gloves in the trunk. And a coat," Armie says. "You just packed so much shit for a fucking--"

Timmy steps forward. Grabs one of his suitcases and hauls it out of the trunk. He throws it to the ground and then turns back. Grabs another and does the same. "I would have packed lighter if I would have known we'd be fucking stranded in--" he stands back and gestures violently at snow-covered trees and a road that, when there isn't a blizzard, is made of dirt. "I don't even know! We are stranded and even if I was able to call for help, I wouldn't be able to direct someone to me. We are in the middle of fucking nowhere because of you and your stupid ass GPS app that drained your--"

Armie stands up quickly. Cracks his head on the trunk door but doesn't flinch even though Timmy is fairly certain it hurt. Even Armie’s head isn’t that thick. 

He points at Timmy. "It is not stupid. My friend--"

"Nick, my friend _Nick._ Jesus Christ, we fucking know. Your fucking _girlfriend_ Nick made this dumb Waze ripoff and instead of telling him that it was a stupid thing to waste his time on, you just continued to suck his balls like you always--"

Timmy finds himself pressed awkwardly against the rear lights of the car, Armie's hand fisted in Timmy’s sweatshirt. He knew Armie was big, but he's never felt little next to him until now. It's nice, but terrifying because he knows he wouldn't be able to push Armie away if he wanted to.

Fuck, he should want to push him away, but he doesn't. Oh, God, he doesn’t want to push him away. He smells faintly of cologne and who the hell wears cologne to drive back to college, unless they're trying to impress--

_You're an idiot,_ Timmy thinks. _A fucking idiot who never had a chance and will never have a chance and he is also a douche so you don't want a chance and, oh, oh God. Just fuck me and leave me for dead holy shit--_ Armie leans down further and presses Timmy harder against the car. Timmy wills his dick to just stay hidden for a few more moments. Reminds himself that they are stranded in the woods in the middle of a blizzard. His cock doesn't care. Sweatpants were a really fucking bad idea.

"I have _never_ sucked his balls," Armie says. Adds, "I have never done _anything_ like that with Nick,” he says like someone who has spent a lot of time sucking Nick’s balls. __

_ _The thing is, Timmy doesn’t even have a problem with Nick. The app is actually pretty cool, just redundant. _Nick_ is pretty cool, even if Timmy is slightly jealous he has Armie hanging over his shoulder most of the time_ _

_ _Timmy exhales, and hopes Armie doesn't feel the way his breath quivers in his throat. Leans back against the car and closes his eyes. Under different circumstances--_ _

_ _Where Armie isn't straight. Or at least like, a slightly crooked straight, willing to give him a night. A chance. Where Armie isn't dating the fucking captain of their college's cheerleading squad. Liz, who wears bows the size of Timmy's forearm and is nicer than anyone that pretty has any obligation to be. Liz. Fuck, just her name makes Timmy's dick recoil (and thank God for that, because Armie doesn't seem to be moving) because she is one of the first people who was nice to Timmy when he moved into the dorms, and here he is, pressed against the back of her boyfriend's Grandma's broken down Buick, wanting nothing more than to taunt him so he keeps pressing Timmy harder, harder--_ _

_ _He licks his lips. Knows that as annoyed as Armie is with him, he’s still _Armie_ and he’s a nice guy (ugh, he’s so nice and Timmy hates--absolutely hates--himself for getting Armie so riled up), so he spits, "I'm really fucking cold, Armie." Slouches a bit when Armie backs up and returns to searching through the trunk. With Timmy's bags thrown into a snowbank, he easily finds the gloves he swore were back here, along with a spare coat._ _

_ _"It was my Grandpa's," Armie explains when Timmy slips it on. The sleeves hang down past his hands. Armie points behind them. "That gas station is a mile back that way."_ _

_ _Timmy sighs. He wishes he had stayed at the dorms for the holidays. Wishes he hadn't tried to block out Armie's existence with shitty music that drained his phone battery so they couldn't call for help. Wishes this entire semester had never happened. "Great," he says, but it's not._ _

_ _Before Armie starts to walk, he says, “And Nick’s not my girl--” he rolls his eyes. “He’s just my friend, okay?”_ _

_ _Timmy huffs a, “Whatever,” and follows him. _ _

_ _______ _

_ _This isn’t like Armie. In fact, this is so unlike Armie that Timmy hardly recognizes him as they walk. Armie a few paces in front of Timmy, stomping through the thick snow. Broad shoulders high and tight. _ _

_ _He doesn’t even hold branches out of the way for Timmy when he walks by them. Lets them go without looking back. This is the first time Timmy’s walked through a forest with Armie, but he’s fairly certain Armie would be the kind of person that holds a branch for someone. Maybe even shake off the snow so none of it falls on their head. _ _

_ _But this Armie is different, and Timmy knows it’s his fault. Knows that every time Armie ducked into his dorm to ask a question and Timmy responded with a one word answer or a stiff glare, he was picking away at Armie’s obnoxiously nice personality. _ _

_ _He knew he would snap, eventually, but he didn’t realize how long it would take. Apparently, being stuck in a car with Timmy for a few hours and then hitting a snowbank, totaling his car, and realizing he’s stuck in the middle of a blizzard with an asshole of a freshman was enough to make him snap. _ _

_ _Timmy tells himself he doesn’t care. _Good,_ he thinks. _Maybe now I’ll be able to live with the guy.__ _

_ _(Because he has to _live_ with Armie. Fuck. For the next semester, he has to share a bathroom and have only a thin wall between their dorms. He’ll be able to hear him laugh, smell his shampoo, know every time he fucks his girlfriend.)_ _

_ _But, deep down, he knows he doesn’t feel that way. _Good,_ he thinks. _Maybe now I’ll stop being in love with Armie Hammer._  
______ _

_ _The gas station, it turns out, is not a mile back. In fact, they walk for almost a mile and a half before Armie admits that maybe, just fucking maybe, they should have gone left and not right back at the intersection before the dirt road. And, actually, "This might, ugh," Armie looks down at the snow covered ground. Licks his lips. Timmy wants to tell him not to; they'll just get chapped. "Not actually be a road."_ _

_ _Timmy opens his mouth. Closes it and turns around. Balls his hands into fists inside Armie's dead Grandpa's gloves. Exhales slowly through pursed lips. He follows his last few footsteps back through the snow. They are already filling in with more. Surely, a half mile away their footprints will be gone._ _

_ _He turns back to Armie. Blinks._ _

_ _"I'm sorry! I thought there was an--"_ _

_ _Timmy stomps past him, the actions not as deliberate as he'd like due to the snow._ _

_ _"Tim, where the fuck are you--"_ _

_ _"I don't fucking know," Timmy answer. And he doesn't. This is actually the worst day of his life._ _


	2. Chapter 2

It's not the worst day because they are currently stranded hours from their college campus in _literally_ the middle of nowhere in a goddamn blizzard. It's not the worst day because Timmy realized an hour from his house that he’d forgotten his favorite pair of sneakers. And it's not the worst day because he is likely going to die from exposure or--worse--a bear attack.

No, it's the worst because of Armie fucking Hammer. Timmy's resident advisor and--as of the moment they get back to campus--suitemate. Armie Hammer, who Timmy had to schedule a meeting with before winter break so he could ask for a single room. Armie, who’d been wearing this sweater that looked so god damn soft Timmy wanted to touch it, asked, "Have you tried getting along with your roommate? He doesn't seem like a bad guy."

And of course Armie would think Ansel wasn't a bad guy. They're both tall and look like fucking movie stars and had no problem fitting in the moment they walked onto campus. Hell, it's like a college campus was designed for these two to use as they please while Timmy has only felt increasingly alone.

"He's not the problem," Timmy lied. "I just don't feel comfortable around him."

He'd been sitting on the edge of Armie's unmade bed. The RA's got singles and a full size bed. They still had to share a bathroom with one other dorm, but Armie had lucked out and no one had asked for the single room attached to the bathroom. Which, Timmy assumed, was why he was pressuring Timmy to stay in his own room.

Typical.

"The first semester is always a bit uncomfortable," Armie said from his desk chair. He was rocking back and forth on the back legs. Playing with the sleeves of his sweater which were a bit tattered and worn. "I bet if you--"

"I'm gay," Timmy blurted out. "And I don't like sharing a room with him because--"

God, so many becauses. Because they got along really well the first week, before classes started. Ansel had taken him out for lunch after moving in, had shown him around campus as he'd arrived the day before Timmy and already knew where all his own classes were. 

Because they'd stayed up late playing video games and listening to music and on Wednesday morning, Timmy was startled awake by Ansel pulling his covers up. The cold air--they left the window open because it had been hot, so hot, the night before when Timmy had admitted he was gay (because he should know, right? It would be weird to not tell his roommate) and Ansel had said, "That's cool, that's cool. I had no idea, honestly."--stifled by the heat of Ansel's body as he pressed into Timmy's space. His bare chest against Timmy's back and he could feel Ansel's heat through his own t-shirt and it made him sticky with sweat all over and when Ansel asked, "Is this okay?" Timmy nodded. 

Choked out, "Yeah," his voice breaking when Ansel dropped the covers back over their bodies and put his hand on Timmy's side, slid it around to his belly. Toyed with the hem of his shirt, but didn't press any further, just said, "Cool." And they slept like that for an hour until Ansel had to get up to go running and on Thursday, they went to a party and Ansel grabbed Timmy's hand and pulled him upstairs to an empty room, said, "I have to show you something," so Timmy would follow. 

And he locked the door and said, "I like you," and kissed him and he tasted like cheap beer and pot and his tongue was heavy and Timmy couldn't speak, so he kissed him like he liked him back. He's never been good at telling people how he feels, so he cupped Ansel through his stupid coral shorts. Blushed when Ansel pulled back and laughed. Said, "Not here, not here," felt ashamed, wanted to explain he isn't normally like this that he's had boyfriends before. He has had long term relationships and he doesn't just jerk guys off all the time and he was about to say so much when Ansel said, "We can go soon and take our time. In our room," and if that wasn't the hottest thing Timmy had ever heard...

They took their time. They took their time and Ansel came in Timmy's mouth and asked Timmy to touch himself and he did. Was close, so close, when Ansel asked, “You want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

And Timmy hadn’t answered, but he’d come so hard his legs shook and he cried out so loud that Ansel threw a pillow at him and laughed, “Shut up; our suitemates will think something’s up.” 

Because on Friday, Timmy woke up alone. Ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner alone. Felt like everyone else in the cafeteria had been sorted into certain groups while Timmy was in a corner at an empty table. 

And on Saturday, Ansel brought home a girl whose named started with an S, Timmy thinks, and stared at Timmy, who was reading, and said, "Can you --" and Timmy got the hint. Took his book to read in the lounge. Came back a few hours later to a room that smelled like bad sex and pot. On Sunday, they were silent and Timmy asked, "So, are we like--" and Ansel groaned at his computer, rolled his eyes, and put his headphones on.

Two weeks later, Ansel came back to the dorm after a party and climbed into bed with Timmy. Tried to grab his cock and suck a reminder onto his neck, but Timmy pushed back. Ansel was bigger. He pinned him down and said, "Such a fucking tease," while Timmy held his breath. Froze. Eventually, Ansel punched the pillow next to Timmy’s head. Stumbled to his own cot and went to sleep.

They haven't talked since. Timmy stays at the library until late at night or goes to a coffee shop just off campus. One time, he was there when Ansel and his friends came in. They didn’t say a word to him, of course, just sat in the corner after getting their drinks. Laughing and, every now and then, Timmy could feel Ansel’s eyes on him and he’d look up to a cold stare. Watch Ansel make a comment to his friends, who would turn and look. Smirk. 

Eventually, Timmy left. 

"--I just don't feel comfortable, okay?"

"Right," Armie said. Rested his his tongue on his lower lip, then pulled it back into his mouth. Sighed, "It's fine. Do you need help moving your shit? Or do you want to do it after--"

"I'd like to do it before," he said. Added, "I don't need your help."

Armie’s eyebrows bunched. He nodded and scratched the back of his neck. "There's some paperwork. Do you want to tell--"

"He won't care. Probably won’t even notice."

Armie blinked. Bit his lip and leaned forward. He smelled like fabric softener and cereal. Lowered his voice, but didn't whisper. Timmy doesn't think Armie is capable of whispering. "Listen, you can talk to someone else if it would make you more comfortable, but Ansel didn’t, like--" he stopped, and Timmy thought maybe he should tell him. Armie is an RA after all. He could probably do something. 

But Timmy doesn’t really want anything done. He just wants Ansel out of his life. 

Timmy shook his head. "I just can't live with him anymore."

Armie offered to help him move again, but Timmy declined. Moved his things down the hall into the single room attached to Armie's. When anyone in the hall asked why he was moving, Timmy said, "I need to focus on my studies."

____

Nick was Timmy's ride home for Thanksgiving break. Timmy likes Nick and wishes he was his RA instead of Armie. They are very similar, but the difference is that Nick understands there is a time and a place for everything. Armie thinks that the time and the place is whenever he fucking wants it to be. He's obnoxious and loud and takes up too much space. When they pass in the hall, he can't avoid Armie's eyes and feels as though he needs to plaster himself to the wall in order to avoid touching him.

Not that Armie cares about being touched. He's big on high fives and runs a big hand along people's back when he passes by them in the study lounge. When he and Nick sit and watch sports together, they are pressed thigh to thigh and Armie usually has his arm along the back of the couch. Once, he watched Armie come up behind Nick and press his hands on his shoulders. Massaged the muscles and moved lower, lower, Nick all but twisting like a cat who likes the feeling of being pet but doesn't want to admit it.

Timmy wanted to be under those hands, but wouldn't admit that. Twisted away from imagining how much pressure Armie would or wouldn't use. If he'd be all thumbs or if he'd switch to using his knuckles. Wondered if his hands would feel as big as they look, or if they'd somehow feel bigger. God, he bets one of Armie's hands would cover most of his back. Two would be too much.

Anyways, whatever. Timmy didn't want to touch or be touched by Armie. And he likes Nick more. And didn't spend an entire night awake thinking about Armie's hands on him because Armie would never want to touch him in the ways he imagined; he wouldn't even want to touch Timmy like he touches Nick. Would never want to touch him like he touches Nick, but with a different intent. They aren't friends and they will never, ever be lovers, not even for a night (which is all Timmy needs, all he wants. Probably all he deserves.)

Nick was _supposed_ to give Timmy a ride after winter break, but he decided to come back a day early and asked Armie--not bothering to confer with Timmy--to give him a ride back. And Armie had agreed. Of course he'd agreed. Because Nick asked but also because Armie is just nice and it's annoying.

It's annoying because no one else sees just how obnoxious Armie is. They see him as the guy who remembers you had a big exam and makes sure to ask how you think you did. Says, "Whatever, I'm sure you did fine. Either way, it's just one exam!" They see him as the guy who will sit with anyone in the cafeteria, even if their conversation falls flat after, "Hey." He'll just eat in a silence that should be awkward, but is comfortable. Leave with a quick, "See you after class!"

They don't see how he'll look at Timmy and lick his lips, how he'll stop by his room and casually ask if he's on his way to get food and if he wants company like it's not a big deal. But it is a big deal because Timmy doesn't just want their schedules to align. He doesn't want to be Armie's little pet project, doesn't want to be a story in a job interview five years from now about how Armie coaxed this pathetic freshman out of his shell.

He wants Armie to stand in his door frame. No, wait, walk into his dorm room and stand by his desk. Ask him to lunch the next day and, when Timmy agrees, say something like, "I'm looking forward to it."

No, no he doesn't. That's ridiculous. He can't want that because Armie would never ask him because he reserves that shit for Liz. Sometimes Nick, but mainly Liz. And even if Liz was gone. If she transferred or decided she needed to focus on school more, there would be another girl, another girl, another girl and Timmy would still be a project to make Armie feel better about himself.

Right, so it was Armie who picked Timmy up this morning. Asked if he needed help with his bags and said, "I'm not driving Ms. Daisy," when Timmy climbed into the back seat. Sighed, "Seriously?" when Timmy put on his headphones and slapped twenty dollars for gas on the center console.

For the first hour, Armie tried to make conversation. _Did you have a nice Thanksgiving, what did you eat, did your dad get drunk and yell at your mom because mine did _(he laughs it off, but it's not a true Armie laugh and Timmy hates that he knows Armie's real laugh from his fake one, wants to ask him if he’s okay, if he wants to talk, but he doesn’t. Liz can do that later), _what classes are you taking next semester, okay, alright, fine. I'll stop talking. _ Under his breath, _I don't fucking get him._

And then silence. Silence until the first rest stop when Armie said, "Do you want a coke or something?" but Timmy had packed snacks in his bag. "Need to pee?" And even _that_ made him mad because if he needed to fucking pee he would get out of the car and go pee. He understands how rest areas work. Timmy might not be able to navigate the social constructs of a college campus, but he can pee in a urinal, thank you very much.

A half hour later, he did have to pee, but he refused to ask Armie to pull over.

_____

They find a cabin.

Rather, Timmy finds a cabin and Armie is just following the path in the snow Timmy is creating, apologizing every few steps for getting them lost, for getting in the accident, for not realizing his phone battery was as low as it was, for it being the night before one of Timmy’s exams and how the _fuck_ does he even know that? When he said it, Timmy stopped and turned around. His stomach quivered, but he couldn’t find the nerve to ask. 

"Who would live way out here?" Armie asks as they approached the cabin.

Timmy rolls his eyes. "I think it's a warming hut," he says. They're not far from campus; he knows there are hiking and skiing trails in this area. He pushes the door open; snow that had been piling up against it spills into the dark entryway. "Do you have your keys?"

Armie takes a glove off and tucks it under his armpit. Rummages in his coat pocket and Timmy can hear the jingle of his keys. "What do you--"

"You have that mini flashlight," Timmy says. He shakes the gloves off and tucks them under his armpit. Holds his hand out. Is rewarded with keys and the slight brush of Armie's fingertips against his flesh. His skin is hot. He fumbles for the miniature flashlight. Turns it on and scans the room. A chair, a bed, a table with only three legs. It is propped against the wall. A fireplace in the corner; the door is broken. Hanging on only by the lower hinge.

He turns the flashlight off and the small cabin seems darker than before. Armie presses up against him from behind. Puts a blind hand out and it catches on Timmy's elbow. He jerks his arm away, but Armie's fingers have already found themselves wrapping around the limb. "Jesus, it's dark," Armie whispers.

Timmy whispers back, "I can turn the--"

"No," Armie says. "It's fine." His fingers tighten on Timmy's elbow as he steps closer. Pushes Timmy further into the cabin until he can use his free hand to shove the door shut. The sound of snow sliding off the roof masks Timmy's grunt as Armie shoves into him from behind.

"I don't--" Armie starts.

"This is not--"

"--what we should--"

"I'm tired," Timmy stutters. Licks his lips as Armie's frame straightens against his back. As his hand finds the path from Timmy's elbow to his shoulder. "We should rest."

"Until it’s light," Armie seems to agree.  
_____

There's a blanket on the bed. It smells of mothballs and wet wood, but Armie pulls it over them.

(Timmy tried to argue. Said he'd just sleep in the chair, but it was wooden and damp [like everything, it seemed] and, "You will never fall asleep on that," Armie insisted. Moved to the edge of the bed and patted the flat mattress. "Plenty of room, okay? Just for the night."

And Timmy had relented. Said, "Whatever," like the biggest burden in his life was flopping down on a mattress and feeling the warmth of Armie's hips next to his thigh and the hovering breadth of his body next to his.)

"In the morning," Armie says. "I will try to get to the road and--"

Timmy huffs. "I'm not going to just fucking sit here while you--"

"Timmy it’s fucking freezing out--"

"--I'm not some stupid kid you need to--"

"--and you are wearing sweatpants and--"

"--save, Armie. Fuck, I--"

"--I won't even be gone long, I--"

"Shut _up_," Timmy pleads. Rolls onto his belly and presses his face into the mattress. Regrets it immediately. Everything smells terrible.

He pulls back enough to breath and prevents himself from sobbing by clenching his nails into his palms.

"Please," Timmy whispers.

And then Armie's hand is on the small of his back. His lips are near Timmy's ear--not touching of course, not. He has a girlfriend and he would never. Never, never never--and he says, "It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay."

Timmy nods. Rationally, he knows it will be okay. They aren't going to get eaten by a bear or freeze to death--

(There's no way they'll freeze to death. Armie feels like a furnace and Timmy wants to crawl on top of him, underneath him, inside him.)

\--but this is just _not_ how his freshman year was supposed to go. He was supposed to make friends, maybe get a weird nickname, find someone to make out with regularly, and pass his classes.

He's passed his classes, but everything else is a failure. A complete failure. He's managed to make zero friends, spend most of his time reading in his dorm, act like a slut in front of his roommate, and have to run scared to fucking Armie Hammer who treats him like a lost cause because he _is_ a fucking lost cause.

"Try to get some sleep," Armie whispers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time. This was initially written as a very long one-shot, so splitting it up into chapters has been difficult; I apologize for the choppiness of the updates right now. I'm losing a bit of steam as I try to work on the rest of this (I have it about 2/3 done) so hopefully I get my motivation back before I run out of already edited chapters :)

They try to sleep, but don't.

They try to sleep, but the trees are loud and the snow makes them louder, somehow. It's cold, even underneath the blanket.

"You're shivering," Armie eventually says.

Timmy shakes his head, "No, I'm--"

But Armie pulls him in close. Tucks his arm around Timmy's waist. Pats his belly.

"--not," he whimpers.

"I'm always warm," Armie says, and he fucking is and it infuriates Timmy. He's always warm and kind and fucking stupid and nice and just once--just fucking _once_ he wants Armie to be an asshole. An asshole like Ansel.

But instead, he gets a thumb tracing slow lines against his belly and lips against the back of his neck. A voice that whispers into the night, "Just let me try to help, Timmy."

Timmy nods.

_____

Timmy nods, and then he falls in and out of a shallow sleep. It makes him more tired than rested and every time he slips into consciousness, his toes ache and his nose burns with the cold. He imagines it's bright red.

Eventually, he can't blink himself back into a minute of sleep and says, "It's really cold."

Armie is silent and Timmy thinks he's sleeping. That he's passed out with his lips on Timmy's neck, his thumb pressed against the hollow of Timmy's belly button. If there wasn't a shirt in the way, he'd be hard, no doubt. He'd stand no chance with Armie's hand on the softness of his belly, pressing in. Making itself at home.

Then, moments later. "So," Armie sighs. "Don't hate me, but."

And it's an end. It's a period, an end, an entire thought.

"Well, you already hate me, so whatever. I think we'd stay warmer if we, you know," he continues, and Timmy can feel the heat of Armie's words on his neck. "If we were."

And Timmy doesn't have time for this. He is cold. His toes are like ice and his calves feel like they could splinter. "What, Armie?" he breathes out. He tries to still his jaw, but his teeth still chatter. "Just say it."

"If we were sharing warmth," Armie hisses. "Like, naked. Or, naked-ish."

"Naked-_ish_," Timmy questions, and he was stupid when he irrationally thought he would die from exposure or a bear attack. Really, he is going to die from Armie insinuating they should be pressing their naked bodies together.

For _survival_.

Fuck.

"I mean, it would just be for--"

"Yeah, yeah," Timmy agrees without Armie saying it. Worries that Armie was joking. That it was a trick to get him to admit he likes Armie, that he wants to get him naked, that he wants to be naked with him.

Neither of them move, and then Timmy just thinks, 'Welp,' because this whole year sucks, because this whole situation sucks, because his life literally can't get any worse right now, so what does he have to lose? He pulls his t-shirt off and works on the fly of his pants. Pushes them down and kicks everything off the bed. Leaves his underwear and socks.

Armie doesn't move. His limbs are jostled by Timmy's movements, but he doesn't move. Doesn't even seem to breathe.

"So," Timmy spits. "Was that just a joke or--"

"Definitely not a joke," Armie whispers and his voice sounds _weird_ like he's choking on air, and then there's the rustle of fabric and the sound of a zipper and fuck, fuck, fuck, this is happening and Timmy is being manhandled and shoved about until he feels Armie's chest against his back. Can swear he feels Armie's chest hair scratching against his skin and he is _not_ getting hard for that he is not getting hard from that, he is not, he is not, he is.

Yep, he is.

Fuck.

He’s getting so hard from it that his cock is straining against his boxers and he can’t think of a time when he’s gotten aroused this fast. Not in seventh grade when his gym class did wrestling for two weeks and he was paired up with Randy Dextrom who was twice his size and kept asking, “Are you okay? That doesn’t hurt? Should we stop?” against the back of Timmy’s neck while his crotch pressed against Timmy’s ass and Timmy realized he _might_ have some explaining to do to his girlfriend. 

(Her name was Sara. She was pretty and they sat together at lunch and held hands during assemblies. She’d tried to kiss him one time when they were on their way to the bus stop and he’d immediately dropped to tie his shoe while mumbling something about having a cold; it was May. 

Needless to say, she wasn’t surprised.)

Not the first time he kissed a guy, or the second time he kissed the same guy, or even the _third_

He's so glad Armie forced him to be the little spoon, because he would not be able to hide his boner otherwise. Not if it was anywhere near Armie's ass.

(God, his fucking ass.)

"So," Armie says. "This is like. For," his hands tickle the side of Timmy's waist. "Warmth. And shit." And then his whole arm is pulling Timmy close and he is the tiniest fucking spoon, and Armie is even bigger than he looks because Timmy feels little, insignificant and pointless as Armie relaxes like this is completely normal. Like it is totally normal to take your clothes off in damp cabin in the middle of a blizzard and snuggle on a musty cot for _survival._

God, Timmy hates how confident Armie is. 

"We should try to sleep," Timmy whispers. Swallows. Stares into the darkness. He knows he won't be able to rest.

____

Armie figures out that Timmy isn't sleeping when he whispers, "Knock knock," into the air and Timmy breathes.

Hisses and asks, "Who's there?"

"Why do you hate me?"

"Why do you hate me, who?" Timmy says without a beat.

There's a long line of silence. "Why do you hate me, hoohoo?"

And Timmy laughs and Armie presses his lips against the base of his neck. It seems intentional, but Armie's nose is cold against his skin. Probably just for warmth.

____

Later, Timmy whispers, "You're kind of an ass."

"I am not," Armie defends. He rubs his finger against Timmy's belly button, which is pretty gay for someone with a long term girlfriend, but Timmy isn't judging. "What makes me an ass?"

"You fake being nice."

He slips his hand up to Timmy's sternum. "I _try_ being nice."

Timmy opens his mouth. Closes it, and feels like a guppy. Opens it again.

Admits, "I don't hate you," he says.

"You don't like me," Armie has ready.

Timmy shrugs and curves his back a bit further. Smirks when Armie follows. "Cold?" He asks.

It's a beat, a second. "Freezing," Armie says, and his lips are back at the base of Timmy's neck. They open and close and it doesn't feel quite like a kiss, but it feels like something. It feels like a thing. A thing that is happening and making Timmy's cock (which he'd willed to half mast) stir.

But then, Armie's lips are gone and his breath is steady.

Eventually, it's not cold. It's hot. Two bodies, pressed together. Timmy isn't surprised when Armie pulls away, but he misses his warmth however uncomfortable it had become. Spreads himself on his back and says, "This blanket fucking reeks." Pulls it down to their chins.

"Yeah," Timmy says. He moves onto his back and blinks at the ceiling. His eyes are starting to adjust, but he still can't see much. "It's gross."

"So, you don't hate me," Armie says. "But you don't like me."

"I don't--" Timmy sighs. "Sometimes, people don't like you. It happens, even to you, Armie. Can you just drop it?"

Armie laughs, "Even to me? Like, what am I? What do you--"

"Please drop it."

Armie shifts. Turns on his side and Timmy can feel him looking at him in the darkness. He knows Armie can't see his blush, not unless he has some sort of superhuman eyesight, but Timmy still turns his head away from Armie to hide. 

"You're," Timmy starts. Licks his lips. "You're just annoying. Like you think everyone is obligated to like you."

There's a silence and then Timmy feels Armie's bare leg against the crease of his. Pressing between his thighs. He swallows. Salivates.

"You don't have to hate me, though," Armie says.

"Well, I just get tired of people like you--"

"People like me?"

Timmy nods and feels his curls tangle against the blanket. "Like you, yes. Like you, like Ansel, like--"

And then there's movement as Armie turns. A hand on the back of Timmy's neck. Soft, but firm. A sharp, "I am not like Ansel, okay?" He strokes his thumb into Timmy's hair, then drops it. "I'm not like him."

"Sure," Timmy says.

The air is silent for a long time. Timmy feels warm. The blanket scratches his skin. He closes his eyes and is about to fall asleep. Is close, so close, when Armie says, "You know what? Fuck you. Just fuck off."

And then Armie rolls. Puts his back to Timmy and.

And.

And maybe that's it. He just has to make it to morning and then the rest of the year and _fuck_. 

Timmy squeezes his eyes shut. Balls his fists into his eye sockets and gets the last word in. "K."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise things pick up in the next chapter. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol this chapter is very sudden; this is what i get for writing in random chunks as ideas came to me.

Timmy doesn't sleep.

Armie doesn't, either. He sighs a lot and rolls from side to side. Doesn't seem to care if he keeps Timmy up.

"I'm so bored," Timmy admits, even if he's just saying it to break the silence. The tension between them is so tight, pulling and pulling, ready to snap and Timmy hopes a casual statement might ease that tension. Might make Armie go back to breathing steadily instead of seeming to hold his breath then let out an annoyed huff every few moments. 

Armie shifts. Rolls onto his back and spits, "Then suck my dick," in a tone that Timmy's never heard him use. He wants to apologize. Tell him he knows he's not like Ansel. That of course he's not like Ansel. That if he were like Ansel, he wouldn't be letting Timmy switch rooms. Wouldn't have volunteered to give him a ride back to school, wouldn't have refused gas money and tried to force conversation and, god. If he were like Ansel, Timmy wouldn't think about him as much as he does. Hope to run into him between classes or in the cafeteria.

Armie groans like he wants nothing more than to breathe the words back in. "Sorry, that was--" Armie starts but Timmy cuts him off.

Says, "Okay," quickly, before Armie can get an actual apology out and presses the back of his hand against the side of Armie's thigh like he's taking the first turn in a game of sex chicken. 

Armie laughs and Timmy doesn't recognize this one, either. "Shut up. You don't want to do that," he says and Timmy is pretty sure a bigger lie has never been spoken.

Thinks, _you have no idea, Armie, how much I want my mouth on you. Mostly your dick, but also your mouth and your neck, the top of your head and the tips of your toes and every space in between, every crevice and every joint. I want to swallow you down and never let you come back up._ And that truth, even silently admitted to himself, makes Timmy’s gut ache. 

Says, "Why, are you chicken?"

It's too hot under the blanket. Smells like Armie's cologne and Timmy's shampoo, Doritos and chocolate, stale breath and gum. Timmy never likes to have his face covered and keeps breathing through his nose. Long, deep breaths. He hears Armie huff a puff of air out through his mouth before he finally whispers, "I'm not chicken," quietly, like he can't believe this conversation is happening. "I just know you're jok--"

"I offered," Timmy says. Chicken, chicken, chicken. "It's fine. But if I die of boredom..." he lets his voice trail off and closes his eyes. Wonders if Armie would be able to punch him under the blanket. If it would hurt or if it'd feel more like a sharp nudge. He blinks into the darkness.

Armie moves and Timmy assumes he's scooching away. Waits for a hit with a fist or words. Assumes, when he hears Armie start to talk, it will be a, "You're disgusting," or "I'm not a fag," or "God you're fucking pathetic." Instead Armie asks, "Are you serious right now?" He's still whispering.

"Get your cock out," Timmy says and he starts inching down the cot. Rolls onto his stomach, his face first coming in contact with Armie's bare shoulder; he lets his lips touch the skin, but doesn't kiss him. Doesn't suck a mark on his body, doesn't leave a reminder for Armie to find later, a mark that Liz might ask about and he'd have to cover up with a lie. Blush and say he's not really sure. Mabye it's a rash or a bug bite.

Armie moves and his elbow bumps into Timmy, but he’s not deterred. He wants this, right? He wanted one chance with Armie--not even a chance, just a moment to make into a memory. To get him through this year. And here it is. 

Timmy moves down. Feels his way along Armie's body and wishes it were morning so he could see what feels to be a sharp line of obliques and slightly protruding hip bone and, fucking, thighs. Jesus, Timmy stumbles for a second. Stalls when his hand swipes along the top of Armie's thigh, slides to the inside. Jesus Christ. Feels the soft tickle of hair and wishes he could see just how much hair is on Armie's thighs. It feels like a good amount. He wasn't expecting that. Not that he’d imagined what Armie’s thighs look like, no. The thought never crossed his mind. 

It's then that he realizes Armie's boxers have been pushed down to his knees. He'd expected him to slip his cock through the slit in his underwear, to keep some distance between themselves, but no. Armie has pushed them down to his knees and given Timmy access to all of him. His cock, his thighs, his balls. Timmy wonders if Armie would let him suck on his balls. Roll them between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. _Jesus you're the worst,_ Timmy tells himself.

"Timmy, I--" Armie pauses. "I didn't shower this morning," he admits and Timmy can hear the blush of Armie's cheeks in his voice.

_Good,_ Timmy thinks. _I want to know how you'd taste after class and in the morning, after a long day. I don't want to taste soap, I want to taste your sweat._

Says, "Whatever," and slides his hand up until he finds the base of Armie's cock. He'd expected him to be soft. To stay soft until Timmy has his mouth on him. Figured he'd have to work for it, but Armie isn't flaccid, not at all. He isn't even half hard. His cock feels like it hurts, so Timmy doesn't waste any time.

He'd pictured this moment a thousand times. In every configuration, he'd taken his time. Sometimes he'd kissed the insides of Armie's thighs before licking softly over his balls. Moving from the base of his cock to the tip before sinking down. Other times, he started at the head. Sucked him until he was whining, then jerk him off for a bit while he took turns giving each of his balls all of the attention they deserved.

But right now, under his fingers, Armie feels like he's about to burst out of his skin and Timmy is sure it hurts. So he just takes him in his mouth, only able to fit half of him in and that makes his own cock hurt.

Even in his imagination. Even in his dreams. Armie hadn't been this big.

His cock hits the back of Timmy's throat and he groans, but Armie must think he's gagging because he says, "Hey, you don't need to--" and he's pushing at Timmy's shoulder, trying to get him to let up, but Timmy bats his hand away and pulls back an inch, two inches, before taking in one, two, three, fuck maybe that's four or maybe this is actually heaven. "Seriously, you've proven your point--"

Timmy pulls off and says, "Shut up, Armie," then sinks back down.

Armie’s voice is soft, hopeful even, when he says, “Okay, okay.” 

Armie tastes good. Armie tastes like sweat and skin and there isn't a trace of soap and Timmy loves that. Associates soap with people who think they know what they'll get at the end of the night, that they go into a situation assuming Timmy's mouth will be on them at some point and even if it is, even if that's Timmy's plan from the beginning, he doesn't like when they assume it.

He pulls back and sucks on the head of Armie's cock. Flattens his tongue over the slit and then tucks the tip under the ridge of the head. Hears Armie gasp like he's searching for air he was denying his lungs. "Fuck, Tim," Armie says. Whispers, like someone might hear. Says, "Timmy," on an exhale that makes Timmy's hips buck against the mattress.

Timmy had resigned himself to not getting off. Could live with pretending he had to take a piss and jerking off outside against the cabin. Probably losing his erection to the cold, but that would be fine, more than fine, perfectly fucking fine as long as he got to taste Armie this one time. But then, Armie had to go and say his name. And now, he not only has to live with knowing how Armie's cock tastes, but also the way his own name sounds on Armie's tongue as he's falling apart.

God, he hadn't expected Armie to acknowledge him and say his name. Had figured he would close his eyes and picture Liz. Wouldn't have even cared if he'd called him by the wrong name, but no, Armie had to use Timmy's name and it is too much. His cock, stretching Timmy's mouth wider than is comfortable (but, god, he would stretch himself further for Armie if he just asked nicely), and his taste, and his fucking voice are too much and Timmy starts circling his hips into the mattress. Thinks about getting up on his knees so he can properly jerk off, but then remembers that this is it. This is the one chance he has and he needs to remember every moment.

"You're so--" Armie starts and Timmy tries to block out what might come next. You're so slutty, you're so greedy, you're so-- "good, you're mouth feels so good, fuck," he finishes. "Please, Timmy."

Timmy wraps his hand around the base of Armie's cock and takes him back in as far as he can. Groans when he realizes he's still an inch or two from having his fist meet his lips. Pulls off and asks, "Please what?" while slowly jerking Armie off. Sliding his hand up and spreading saliva down his cock. Swirling the head against his slick palm.

"Nevermind," Armie says.

Timmy stills his hand. Squeezes. "No, what? Do you want me to stop? I can--" He doesn't want Armie to think he has to be part of this. That he has to do this for Timmy. This has been enough, this is enough.

"Please don't stop. I just wanted you to--"

"I'll do anything," Timmy cuts him off swiftly. Figures he can just make up for this admission by being twice as much of an asshole tomorrow. "Just tell me."

"You don't have to, but," Armie exhales and rushes out the words all at once, "Suck on my balls, please. Please, Timmy."

Timmy laughs and can hear the breath Armie takes. Knows he's about to walk it back, and Timmy doesn't want that. He ducks down and wraps his lips around one of Armie's balls; tries to fit the other but can't. Wants to make a comment about how big Armie is, but that feels too intimate. Too much of an admission of admiration. So he jerks him off. Uses his free hand to touch Armie's thigh. Run along the side, slide to the inside. Lets it creep up, up, up until he can start to feel where his leg meets his ass. Traces his fingers along this line and waits for Armie to tell him to stop.

He swirls his tongue around Armie's flesh and sucks softly. His own balls are always sensitive, so he keeps his tongue gentle. Mouths at him more than anything while he speeds up the strokes on Armie's cock.

Traces the line. Thinks, _No, he wouldn't let me. He wouldn't let me and I should ask, I shouldn't just try. I should--_ but then Armie lets his legs fall open a bit wider. Gives a happy sigh when Timmy's finger echoes his previous path. Timmy moves his fingers beyond the line and it feels, for a moment, like he's in enemy territory. He lets his middle finger lead the way. Doesn't press in, but maps a route from Armie's perineum, down his crack to the mattress. Back up. Lets Armie's ball fall out of his mouth so he can take the same path with his tongue and when Armie shouts, it sounds like he might cry.

"Sorry, I--" Timmy gets started, but then Armie is sitting up and the covers are falling down and Timmy backs up to the foot of the bed, ready for a fist, a slap. Ready. And then silence. He can sense Armie staring at him even if he can't see him. Hear his breathing. "Armie, I'm sorry, I should have--"

"Fuck, Timmy," Armie whispers and then there are hands reaching for him and the air is cold but Armie's body is so hot as he manhandles Timmy underneath him. Pushes Timmy face down onto the mattress. Holds him down with a hand on his shoulder while the other grips his ass cheek. Pulls him apart and then Timmy feels the warmth of Armie's spit on his hole. Is impressed at Armie's aim and then realizes this is all luck. This is all stupid, dumb luck so he clenches his fists and prepares himself for a stretch that his mouth has already told him will hurt. Tries to relax, tries so hard, but his lower abs ache with anticipation, with regret, with want.

And then he feels Armie's cock between his cheeks, his hand holding him between Timmy, acting as a third wall of heat and, "Fuck," Timmy drawls as his hands try to grip the mattress but the effort is fruitless. He opens his eyes wide as each thrust of Armie's dick between his ass cheeks pushes his own cock into the mattress.

"Sorry, sorry," Armie whispers and then it's hot, hot, so fucking hot and the blanket is covering them again and Armie thrusts once, twice, asks, "Do you want me to stop?"

Timmy shakes his head. Armie's cock is impossibly heavy against him. Heavy enough to hold him down, to open him up, to make him want to cry from the friction and ache where he wants that friction the most, stretching him open.

Armie stills. 

"Timmy?"

"Yeah?"

"I asked if you want me to stop."

Timmy laughs. Sighs and rolls his hips so he can feel Armie's cock sliding against him again. "No."

"Are you--"

"Jesus Christ, Armie," Timmy says and rolls his hips again, again, again, until Armie is thrusting back. Pressing him down with his chest, suffocating him with the heat from his body and pressing his open mouth against the back of Timmy's shoulder. Grunting into him with each thrust and pausing every now and then to squeeze his ass.

Timmy tries to press back against Armie's cock but is met with the pressure of hands that are too big, too perfect. Exactly how Timmy imagined them.

Armie slows down and sits back. Deliberately presses the head of his cock against Timmy's hole and presses, presses, then pulls back. Whispers Timmy's name. Presses in again and Timmy's body starts to open to him and Timmy knows he should tell him to stop, that they will regret this in the morning, that his body will hate him in the morning, that--and then Armie pushes him down again. Spits into the crease of his thighs and pushes his cock in.

Timmy tries to keep his body stiff. Tries to push back against Armie, tries to take more than Armie's giving him, but it's useless once Armie starts talking.

"I want to, though," Armie whispers into Timmy's ear, and that's all it takes for Timmy to know he's going to come just from the friction of Armie's cock between his thighs and his own against the old mattress in this stupid cabin. "Not here, but I want to. Spread you out and open you up. Bet you'd open up so nicely for me, wouldn't you, Timmy? You act so tough, but I bet you'd be so sweet when I get inside you."

Timmy opens his mouth to respond. Swears he actually has words he has planned to say, but all that comes out is a moan. Armie's thrusts quicken and Timmy lets himself go limp. Wants to respond but can't seem to make words anymore. Can't even seem to think about anything but the friction between his thighs. With each of Armie's thrusts, Timmy is pushed up the mattress and it takes his head bumping against the wall once, twice, three fucking times before he thinks to put a hand up and press back.

"C'mere," Armie says. Loops his arm around Timmy's waist and hauls him backwards so they're both kneeling on the bed. The blanket falls away and Timmy's is struck by cold along his front. The slick heat of Armie's body against his back. 

"Lean, Tim, yeah, like that. Let me," Armie says, holding him tight. Continuing to thrust while bringing his hand to Timmy's mouth. "Spit," he demands, and Timmy doesn't think. Can't think, just drops his head and spits into Armie's palm. Feels Armie reach between Timmy's legs and pause his movements for the short seconds it takes to slather the spit on his own cock. Then, his hand is firm on Timmy's hip while his other arm is wrapped around Timmy's waist and, "God, yes, just like that Timmy. Let me feel your pretty body, fuck, I wish I could have seen how you looked on my cock, how your mouth looked stretched on my dick, I tried not to think about it before, fuck we shouldn’t be doing this, but I kept thinking about it since the first time I saw you, and it was better, so much better--"

Timmy lets Armie pull him closer. Sinks into him and thinks, _Yes, yes, fucking yes,_ but says, "Better than what? Your girlfriend?"

And then Armie's arm is around his neck and he's reaching down. Gripping Timmy's cock and jerking him off as he fucks into his thighs, hissing, "Shut the fuck up," before biting softly at Timmy's neck, and that's all it takes for Timmy to come over Armie's fist, the mattress, the blanket. All it takes for him to hear but not listen to the words Armie says.

"You know that’s not true," he says.  
"Fuck, you feel so good," he says.  
"I want to taste all of you," he says.  
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," he says as he spills between Timmy's thighs.

Timmy opens his mouth and tries to make words come out, but all he can do is pant and echo the thoughts, _fuck, fuck, fuck._

Eventually, they fall back onto the mattress. It’s even more disgusting now, but Timmy doesn’t care. 

"That was," Timmy breathes.

"Yeah," Armie responds.

Outside, the wind whips the trees back and forth. Armie exhales, then pulls Timmy on top of him. Loses his hand in the curls that gather at the nape of Timmy's neck. His hands feel perfect and Timmy doesn’t mean to, but he sighs. An unmistakably satisfied and, yeah, maybe even happy sigh. 

He swallows and starts to roll off Armie’s body, only to be stopped by the hand on the back of his neck and another on the small of his back. “Timmy,” he says and Timmy doesn’t want to hear how this was a mistake. How this shouldn’t have happened and Armie was just caught up in the whole situation. He doesn’t want to hear how they can’t talk about this, how no one can ever know, that it just happened because they’re both scared and nervous and you do stupid shit when you’re in a situation like this. Armie’s voice is filled with regret when he finally says, “I’m sorry, that was--”

“I’m tired,” Timmy interjects, but lets himself get comfortable on Armie’s chest. Swallows and breathes. His skin itches where their spit and come are drying on his body, but he doesn’t want to wipe it away. God, he’s disgusting. 

“Timmy, I think we should talk about--”

“Nothing to talk about,” Timmy says, cold. “I was bored, you wanted your dick sucked, it’s done. 

Armie’s hands are so gentle. Timmy wants to burn the memory of them onto his skin. They don’t feel too big; they feel perfect. “It’s not nothing, Timmy, I--”

“It _was_ nothing. I’m not going to fall in love with you, so don’t worry,” Timmy says, which isn’t a lie. He isn’t _going_ to fall in love with him because he probably has, just a little. The tiniest bit. 

Armie seems to give in. Nods and tucks his chin on top of Timmy’s head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh, guys. this is where it becomes REALLY APPARENT that this was planned as one long piece because there are POV switches and hot messes around every corner. you gotta wade through a lot to get to the deep dicking; apologies in advance. 
> 
> Y I K E S.

"Fuck, Timmy," Armie hisses. Gently rolls Timmy to the side, his hand accidentally brushing against the back of Timmy’s neck, his back, his ass. It's morning and it's bright. Timmy sits up and, fuck, it's cold. He reaches for the blanket and pulls it around his shoulders. Watches as Armie crawls out of bed and--

Shit. In the daylight, there is nothing to see but skin and muscle that he can still feel like a ghost on his fingertips, against his back.

Timmy looks away, but maybe he sneaks a quick glance at Armie's ass. There are goosebumps on his flesh and Timmy wants to touch him. "Fuck," Armie says again. "Tim, get clothes on--"

And that's when Timmy hears the voices. Faint, but closing in.

(_Get clothes on or they'll see your come stained thighs. Get clothes on or they will know we weren't just bros surviving in the cold. Get clothes on so we never have to talk about this again. _)

"Fuck," Timmy says. His thighs itch where their come has dried, but he doesn't scratch it. He won't. He pulls on his pants and looks for his shirt.

_____

It's skiers. An older couple who have a working cell phone and granola bars and Timmy insists it's okay, they're fine, he's fine, everything is fine.

It’s not fine. Nothing is _fine._  
_____

They call Nick, who has a truck. While they follow the skiers’ tracks to the head of the trail, Armie asks, “Timmy, I really didn’t mean for last night to happen like that. Can we-”

And Timmy blushes. Remembers how desperate he was to have Armie in his mouth, how he would have let him fuck him, how he almost _did_ and how he believed it when Armie said he wanted to. 

(Shit, the way he had groaned into Timmy’s ear. Told him he wanted to open up, assumed he’d open up so sweetly and of fucking course Timmy would. And of course Armie would think that. Would think that it would be easy, that Timmy would be easy and ready for him.)

Timmy waves him off. “Armie, it’s fine.” Rolls his eyes and petulantly says, “It was just sex, so stop acting like you’re having some sort of crisis.”

God, he probably is having a crisis. Worried that the next time he touches Liz, he’ll remember the way Timmy had told him, “I’ll do anything.” Liz wouldn’t do _anything_ because she doesn’t have to do anything. She doesn’t have to suck his balls and grind back against him, doesn’t have to offer herself up like some sort of object because Armie wants to be seen with her in public. Wants to make lunch plans with her and watch movies with her. 

Timmy speeds up and brushes by Armie on the trail. 

_____

Nick picks them up. Asks, "Should we try to find the car?" But Armie quickly shakes his head and buckles his seat belt. 

“I bet Timmy here is ready to be back on campus.” Looks out the window and Timmy tries to make himself as small as he can between Nick and Armie. Tucks his hands between his thighs and hunches his shoulders. 

“Couldn’t agree more,” Timmy says and he pretends not to notice how Armie scoots impossibly close to the door.

Pretends not to notice the way Nick stares at them for moments too long before putting the truck in gear.  
______

Nick parks outside the dorms and leans over the steering wheel to look at Armie. "So, do you two want to--" and then he stops and Timmy watches as his face rises, falls. Then, he glares at Armie. 

Timmy sits up and bites at his thumb. Stares forward. There’s an overpowering silence in the truck and, in his peripheral vision, he can see a tennis match of overactive eyebrows and clenched jaws bouncing between Armie and Nick. 

Finally, Nick sighs and opens the door. Says, “Jesus Christ,” under his breath, and, _fuck, _ Timmy hopes that Nick hasn’t figured out what happened. Hasn’t figured out what they did in the cabin. Doesn’t think less of Timmy. 

Fuck, and what if Nick figuring this out means this is old hat for Armie? 

Timmy scrambles to release his seat belt. Imagines himself getting out of the truck. Heading up to his dorm and ignoring Armie for the rest of the semester. Pretending the dorm next to his has been boarded up and abandoned.

Instead, he's frozen as Armie reaches a hand out and grabs Timmy's elbow. Whispers, "I really want to talk," and Timmy momentarily believes him. Believes that he wants to do more than get Timmy spread out on a bed. 

Timmy bites his upper lip. Releases it and licks his lower. Says, "I don’t think there’s anything to talk about."

And then he slides out of the truck. Pulls the driver seat forward and grabs his bag. “Timmy,” Armie says. “Why won’t you just--”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Timmy mumbles before brushing past Nick, who is doing a shit job of pretending to look at his phone.

His jaw is tight, but it loosens with Timmy says, “Thanks for the ride, Nick.”

“Anytime, Timmy. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” He pats Timmy’s shoulder and then looks like he wants to add something. Like he wants to apologize, but instead he turns back towards the open truck door and leans in. Hisses something at Armie that Timmy can’t make out.

____

Armie skips his first class on Monday. Stands in the bathroom between his and Timmy's rooms and debates knocking on Timmy's door. Honestly thinks about not even knocking. Just walking in and saying, 'I like you. I like you a lot and I wish we hadn't done what we did and I wish I had been able to control myself because I would like to take you out to coffee or dinner or just a fucking walk. We could walk to the library and study if you want. That's all I want.'

Instead, he washes his face and brushes his teeth and sits at his desk. Waits to hear movement from Timmy's side.

There's just silence, so Armie tries to study. 

Right before noon, Nick shows up, twirling his keys and asking if they should go figure out Armie's car situation.

"Yeah," Armie says. He looks up from a textbook that he's been reading but not understanding. "Yeah."

_____

"So," Nick says as he pulls onto a road that looks familiar but different. Different because it's sunny and the snow isn't falling. Because a lot of what fell last night has melted. One of those weird storms that is slapped with temperatures just warm enough to erase how heavy everything was just hours before. "You and Timmy?"

Armie looks out the window and says, "I'd really rather not talk about this."

Nick snorts. “The whole reason for you bringing him back to campus was to talk to _him_ about this.” He’s driving slowly and it feels like he’s dragging this out. He probably is, the fucker. Will lock the doors if they get to the car before he’s done lecturing. “You said--”

Armie folds his arms over his chest. “I know what I said, Nick.” Licks his lips. “He’s made it really fucking clear he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Nick stops at an intersection even though they both know no cars will be intersecting their path. They’d hardly seen a soul on the drive here, and that was a highway. “Armie,” he says like a threat.

“Nick,” Armie responds, and his voice cracks even though he tries to keep it steady. Knows this shouldn’t be bothering him this much. It’s just college and Timmy is just a dumb freshman--

(Except he’s _not_ just a dumb freshman, and Armie hates even grouping him in with the other freshman--not that there’s anything wrong with them, but they’re not Timmy. Timmy who actually studies in the study room and mouths the words while he reads in his head. Who drinks two glasses of orange juice for breakfast and grabs coffee on his way to class. Who doesn't go out on Thursday nights and is always early to class and gets good grades and sits in the front row and--fuck.)

\--and Armie really should just cut his losses. 

They find Armie’s car. The snowbank he ran into has melted enough that they’re able to push his car out. Get it back on the road. 

Before Nick walks back to his truck, he knocks on Armie’s window. Armie cracks his neck, sighs, but rolls it down. “Yeah?”

“Drive safely, okay?” 

And he knows what Nick means but is too good of a friend to actually say. Drive safely. Don’t go full speed. Take the turns carefully. 

Don’t fucking hump a guy you actually like the first time you’re left alone with him. 

“Yeah,” he says.  
_____

On the drive back to the dorms, Armie keeps the radio off. Looks in the rear view mirror to an empty backseat. Remembers checking on Timmy yesterday. Continually darting his eyes to the mirror and watching Timmy look at his phone. Out the window. Closing his eyes and--Armie assumed--napping. 

It made him think about the first time he saw Timmy, that first time in the parking lot. He was standing by his parents’ car. Hands in his pockets. Joggers and a white t-shirt and fucking _hell_ he was the most beautiful man Armie had ever seen. 

He has just recently gotten used to realizing he thought men were handsome, attractive, beautiful. That he liked women with sharp jaws and slight breasts because he _really_ liked men. And, yeah, his eyes had traveled. He’d drunk in other faces and bodies but none of them had been like Timmy’s. From his hair to his hips to his ankles, Armie wanted to touch him. From his eyes to his toes, Armie wanted to _not_ touch him and just look. Just know that he existed. 

God, the image is just _there_ every time Armie wants to recall it. Hair tousled and grin lopsided. Eyes wide and ready. 

Armie had been helping another freshman find the bookstore (“You follow that sidewalk until it splits in two. Then you go left. Left, okay?” he pointed, but then waited for them to nod. He was routinely surprised by how many college students didn’t know their left from their right.)

And then Timmy was hugging his mom, his dad. His girlfriend? No, sister. Definitely sister. She grabbed his face and pressed a hard kiss to his cheek and Timmy grimaced. Laughed, then shoved her shoulder too rough for anyone other than a sibling. 

He looked light. Not light as in his weight, though Armie noticed (of course he fucking noticed) how thin he was. Liked the way his skin stretched over his elbows, his wrists. Loved how his smile seemed to dance without his lips even moving. 

Armie licked his lips when Timmy’s family drove off. When Timmy reached a hand up to wave and his fucking tricep rippled under his skin and Armie wanted to wrap his hand around his arm. Feel every muscle and tendon and bone. 

He looked light. Airy and confident. Ready. 

Armie tried not to stare and pretended he was stopping everyone who walked by to ask, “Hey! Did you need directions to the bookstore? I’m Armie and I, ugh, help. Direct people.”

“Timmy,” he’d said and extended a hand. Spread a grin across his face that Armie had seen attempted by other freshman but never seen executed quite like this. Carefree and ready for everything ahead of him. “I’m ready to be directed,” he’d laughed and fuck if that didn’t go right to Armie’s cock. 

But he was on duty. “It’s down the sidewalk until it splits in two. Then you go left,” he explained, pointing blindly behind his body, knowing he was waving in multiple directions all at once. Not caring because Timmy kept smiling. 

Realized Timmy’s hand was still out. Awkwardly hovering between them. Wavering and then beginning to retreat until Armie surged forward and shook his hand. “I’m Armie,” he said. It was an instinct the moment their hands touched and he regretted it immediately. Felt dumb, awkward.

But Timmy didn’t call him out on it. Didn’t say, ‘You’ve already said that.’ No, he repeated, “Timmy. So, down the sidewalk and then--”

And then there was a body, a tall body. A familiar wink and and arm around Timmy’s shoulders. “Trying to steal my roommate, Hammer?”

And Ansel was leading Timmy away. Timmy, who looked over his shoulder and flashed that big smile one more time. Called, “I’ll see you around, Armie!” while Ansel led him down the sidewalk. While they took a left.

Armie hasn’t seen that same smile. Not since that first day. Not since Ansel pulled him away. 

_____

Armie parks his car. It’s started snowing again and he checks his phone. The snow is supposed to continue through the night. Nothing heavy, just an inch or so. 

He takes the keys out of the ignition and texts Nick that he’s back. Get a response almost immediately. 

Nick: _no shit i can see your car dumbass_  
Nick: _lunch?_

Armie: _No. Not hungry._  
Armie: _Big breakfast. Dinner? 7?_

Nick: _class at 6. 8?_

Armie: _Sure._

He pockets his phone and walks out into the snow.

____

It takes him a few tries to knock. First he goes to the bathroom and washes his hands, then walks up to the door to Timmy’s room. 

Retreats to his room. Unpacks his bag and makes his bed. 

Armie goes back through the bathroom. His stomach growls. He knocks and calls out, “Hey, Timmy, are you hungry?” 

Silence. Debates trying the doorknob. If it was Liz or Nick he’d just barge in. 

But it’s Timmy, and he already feels as though he’s taken more than he deserves. 

It wasn’t so long ago that Armie first found Timmy’s dorm. One of the first days of classes. Remembered the boy with the smile and the handshake and awkward double introduction and, fuck, the skin stretching over his bones, and thought, “Yeah. I can do this,” when he saw him sitting at his desk. 

His door was open, so Armie knocked on the frame. Leaned in and saw Timmy alone. Smiled and asked, “Are you hungry?”

And Timmy looked up at him, and he didn’t seem like the same person Armie had met in the parking lot. “No?” he’d said. 

No. 

And it had been like that ever since. Blank stares and shut downs. Armie tried. He really tried, over and over and over. But he couldn’t get that original smile out of Timmy. Couldn’t find that lightness.

He doesn’t get a response and Timmy’s room is quiet. Maybe he has class. 

Maybe.

Yeah, maybe he has class. 

_____

When Armie gets back from dinner with Nick, he pauses outside Timmy’s door. It’s one of the few closed doors in the hall. When he lived with Ansel, it was usually open. 

Armie wonders if that was an Ansel thing. If Timmy prefers his door closed but Ansel didn’t. 

But then maybe it was a Timmy thing _because_ of Ansel. Remembers how Timmy had said he didn’t feel comfortable living with Ansel. Had assumed it was because Timmy was gay and Ansel was not. Had assumed that Ansel had said something to make Timmy feel like he should move out, but then Armie pictures Ansel leading Timmy away from Armie that first day. “Are you trying to steal my roommate?” 

Fuck.

He’d been so worried about having to share space with Timmy that he didn’t even think _why_ Timmy really wanted to move out of his dorm. Why he was willing to share a suite with Armie, who he had shown only disdain every since that first day. 

Fuck, he was so dumb. Selfish, even. Too worried about having to see Timmy all the time--see him and smell him and want him-- to even _think_ about why Timmy would really need to switch rooms. Why he would be so desperate. 

Why he would be so different. 

And, now that he thinks about it, Armie feels like the worst RA ever. 

Fuck. He holds his fist up to knock.

But what will he say? He really should have thought about this at dinner. Or maybe talked to Nick. All Nick did was show him listings for used vehicles with four wheel drive. (Which he was thankful for. Armie doesn’t think he could deal with Nick’s judgemental eyebrows. Not now.) 

He lowers his hand. Looks up at the ceiling and then thinks, _You need to apologize. Tell him that things got out of control in the cabin. That they were both scared and he never should have started all of that. Oh, God._ It all floods back and he rubs a hand over his jaw. Wishes he could punch himself. _’Then suck my dick,’ what kind of asshole are you? This guy has had to spend a semester with fucking Ansel and--_

“Armie?” 

Armie startles and looks to his left. 

Timmy. 

Timmy with his hands gripping the straps of his backpack. Eyes wide and eyebrows hidden under a knit hat. 

He’s wearing Armie’s grandpa’s coat. 

“You look warm,” Armie says. _Oh my fucking god,_ he thinks. 

Timmy blinks. He looks much more than warm. He looks cozy and soft. His cheeks are red as is the tip of his nose. 

Armie wishes he’d kissed him in the cabin. Shit. They’d almost fucked and Armie didn’t even do the one thing he’s wanted to do since that first day in the parking lot. He’d wanted to press him against _anything_ and kiss him and maybe hold him by the nape of his neck so he could thread his fingers through his hair. Wanted to lick into his mouth and bite his lips, wanted to kiss until they were just breathing into one the other's mouth and resting together. He wanted to feel forehead against his own.

Now, he just wants to ask if he’s okay, but Armie gets the impression Timmy doesn’t want to talk. 

“Oh. Oh, right,” Timmy says like someone is asking him to volunteer for a cause he barely believes in. And then he’s dropping his bag next to his door and shrugging the coat off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I hadn’t unpacked my coat and it was just, you know, there.” He holds it out to Armie and Armie fucking takes it because he’s an idiot. 

“Thanks,” Armie says, also because he is in idiot. Turns to walk to his room, but then stops. Holds the coat to his chest and turns. Opens his mouth and is ready to just _ask_ if Timmy needs to talk. Not wants to talk, but does he need to talk? Does he need to tell Armie something? 

Does he just want to sit in silence?

But Timmy is quick and Armie just watches the door to his dorm close, instead.

______

Timmy throws himself, face first and stiff, onto his bed. “FUCK,” he yells into the mattress. 

Maybe he kicks the mattress and maybe he punches his pillow a few times before pulling it to his face and groaning into it. “Fuck,” he repeats. 

He rolls onto his back. Stares at the ceiling. Notices the glow-in-the dark stars a previous tenant stuck on the tiles.

He’s exhausted but he knows he won’t be able to sleep. Last night, he just sat and scrolled through his phone. Looked at different schools he might be able to transfer to. Googled. 

Oh, God, he googled. 

‘How to fit in at college’  
‘How to make friends’  
‘How to make friends with my roommate’  
‘How to make friends with my roommate who is straight’  
‘How to make friends with my roommate who is straight but we maybe fooled around.’

None of it helped. It did produce a lot of porn. Which he didn’t watch. 

Okay, maybe he watched a little of it. Because he could still feel Armie’s body pressing him into that filthy mattress, could still feel the heft of his cock sliding against his ass, could still feel the blunt pressure of Armie’s head against his hole, could still feel how he’d literally fucking quivered under him like a fucking eager slut and--

“FUCK,” he says again, forgetting that he’s no longer muffled into the mattress. 

\--what_ever_. Armie was the one with his dumb cock rutting against Timmy. The one saying all that stupid shit about how he’d open up for him. Which he would, but that’s besides the point. Armie was the one who _wanted_ him to open up. The one who held him like it wasn’t just some stupid thing they did in a cabin. 

And why the fuck did their soft cocks pressed against one another feel more intimate than anything they had done prior to that? Why did Armie’s breath against his face feel sexier than anything he had said? 

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Timmy? You okay?” 

Timmy sits up. Shouts, “Yeah! Stubbed my toe,” and hates himself for how easy that lie was. How easy they always come when he wants to tell the truth. 

There’s silence and then running water. A soft knock again. “Timmy?”

And Timmy rolls over on his bed. Tucks his head into his pillow and closes his eyes.


	6. Chapter 6

That’s fucking fine if Timmy doesn’t want anything to do with him. It’s fucking glorious, actually, Armie thinks. It’s not like that night in the cabin was the first time he was ever comfortable with someone, the first time he’d felt connected to someone, the first time that he’d felt like he was supposed to _be_ with someone. 

It’s fine. 

“Alright, well,” Liz shovels a fork of pancakes into her mouth, then points the prongs at Armie. “You are going to get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.”

Armie looks up from his plate of bacon. “I _literally_ don’t care.”

“You _literally_ will care when you have wrinkles,” Liz mentions. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun and she’s wearing one of Armie’s t-shirts and some leggings. She stopped by last night after a party. She lives off-campus and his dorm is, “so much closer, please.”

So, he’d slept on the floor while she took his bed. 

“That's him, right?” Liz asks. She reaches across the table and grabs a piece of Armie’s bacon. “The one with the curls? He’s so cute. I knew you were going to have a crush on him the first time I talked to him. Called it!” 

Armie looks up, then back down. Sighs at his breakfast. “Yeah,” he says. “He's everyth--”

“Tim!” Liz calls out. Raises a hand above her head and grins. 

“Liz,” Armie hisses, but it’s too late. Timmy sees them and he turns with his tray. Raises his eyebrows. 

“Come sit!” Liz says, and Armie might have to kill her. He might actually have to strangle her with---

“Timmy, hey,” Armie plasters on a smile and scoots over to make room for him. “You, ugh, have a lot of orange juice.”

Timmy, in fact, does have a lot of orange juice. Two glasses. 

He blushes and nods. Liz comments, “It’s good for your heart,” and winks at Armie. “I’m Liz. We met during that first week, remember?”

Timmy nods his head. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

He smells good and clean and Armie wants to sink his nose in Timmy’s armpit, the crease of his thigh. Wants to find where he smells like Timmy or, better yet, a spot he missed that maybe still smells like Timmy and the cabin mingled together. 

Liz grabs her tray. “I have class,” she says, even though Armie knows perfectly fucking well she does not. 

“Liz,” he says, but she’s gone and they’re. 

Well. 

They’re alone. 

Timmy sips his orange juice. 

Armie takes a bite of bacon. “So,” he starts. 

“Yep,” Timmy says. “She’s nice.”

Armie grimaces. “If you say so.” He pushes his plate towards Timmy. Grins when he takes the hint and snags a piece of bacon. “I think I’m nicer,” he jokes. Winks and--

\--and fuck. Puts his hand on Timmy’s knee and what the _fuck_ is wrong with him? But it’s always like this. This need to touch Timmy, to talk to him. Armie used to feel compelled to walk into Timmy’s dorm and ask him to get food. Ask him how classes were going, if he’s gotten any care packages, ‘Hey! What’s this?’ and picking up whatever object is closest to him. He spent more time lingering around Timmy’s door than his own, all so he could come up with reasons to talk to him. 

Fuck. 

“You’re really--” Timmy cheeks start to flush and he looks around like someone might be watching. Like he doesn’t want them to see. “You’re really fucking ballsy,” Timmy hisses. 

Armie doesn’t understand. Or, well, maybe he understands. That night in the cabin, they should have talked. He had _wanted_ to talk. They could have spent all damn night talking. He had _hours_ to clear up every bad thought Timmy had of him. Instead, they spent the night rutting against one another like they couldn’t help it. 

But, maybe Armie _couldn’t_ help it; it had felt right. And he was fairly certain, unless Timmy was one of the best damn actors of their generation, that he felt the same way. 

“I’m--”

Timmy stands up. 

He walks away and Armie watches him until Timmy stops. His fists clench at his sides and Timmy spins on his heel and walks back to the table. “Timmy, I--”

“I forgot my tray,” Timmy says. 

As he leans over to pick it up, Armie looks up and asks, “You really hate me this much?”

“I told you I don’t fucking hate you.” Timmy stands up and pulls his tray close to his stomach. “What else do you want me to say, Armie?” He seems to be holding himself still, keeping his body rigid and stiff. If it weren’t for the sloshing of his orange juice, Armie would have no idea Timmy is shaking. “Do you want me to admit I like you? Because, I do. That’s obvious. So, go tell all your friends and you can all joke about how--”

“--why would I,” Armie stands up and reaches for Timmy’s tray. He’s surprised when Timmy lets go. He starts to move Timmy’s dishes to his own tray. Takes a long drink of one of his glasses of orange juice because his throat is suddenly dry. Stacks their trays together. He swallows and finishes his question, “Why would we joke about that? I would never even--”

And then a light seems to flash behind Timmy’s eyes; he nods and smiles. Not a big smile, but a soft one that seems to say, ‘Oh, I get it now,’ but Armie isn’t entirely sure _he_ gets what Timmy has supposedly discovered. 

“I have class,” Timmy whispers, and then he’s gone and Armie has to talk to him. He’s _going_ to talk to him.  
______

Armie buries his face in his pillow. 

Timmy--

(_Timmy_ who likes him and said it and admitted it and those words made Armie’s stomach melt)

\--has class until three and Armie is well aware that knowing someone’s class schedule better than your own is bordering on stalker levels of infatuation, but Armie came to terms with that by the second week of the semester. 

Timmy has class until three, so he should be back by a quarter after and then Armie is going to knock on his door and say-- 

_Fuck. _

What _is_ he going to say? ‘Hey, the way you smiled at me in the parking lot the first day made me grin for a week and act like an idiot for almost an entire semester so can I take you out for dinner tonight because I want to make you smile like that again. Speaking of which, why did you stop smiling like that? Do you want to talk--’ 

Wait, that’s assuming Timmy answers the door. Using his master key to unlock Timmy’s door would push him into full on stalker territory (and likely get him fired. Maybe even expelled? He didn’t really read his contract.) 

Maybe he could slip a note under his door. That’s a nice gesture, right? 

But he’d been in Timmy’s old dorm; the guy was a slob. There’s a good chance he wouldn’t see the note. And what would he even write? 

_ __ _

hey open your door so i can tell you how i want to make you smile all the time

Fuck. That doesn’t sound creepy at all.

He should see if Nick is back from his tutoring job. 

Armie rolls onto his back and reaches for his phone. He brings up his messages and is slightly embarrassed that the top five texts are Nick, his mom, his brother, Liz, and a coupon for JoAnn Fabrics. Seriously, you sign up one time to get a coupon…

He taps Nick’s name and is about to start typing when he remembers Timmy harsh, “Your girlfriend Nick,” and, hours later, "Better than what? Your girlfriend?"

Oh. 

Oh shit. 

Maybe he shouldn’t text Nick. Actually, maybe he shouldn’t talk to Nick for a while. Or hang out with him and give him back rubs and casually play with his hair. 

“I’m so dumb,” Armie says to his empty room. 

(He quickly grabs his phone and texts Nick, ‘_hey bro ima be MIA for a bit. not mad just timmy stuff love ya_’ even though he is realizing that maybe, possibly, definitely he and Nick are too close for friends. 

He stands up and tosses his phone on his bed. Pulls his shirt over his head and walks to his dresser. 

Goes for a run.

___

Timmy takes the stairs one at a time. Normally, he takes them two, three at time. Bounds up them with a false confidence, nodding at everyone he passes. But today, he doesn’t want to rush things. Doesn’t want to go back to his dorm. 

Or does he?

He’s not entirely sure what he feels. 

Armie wants to be with him--in some capacity--but he just doesn’t want people to know. He wants to keep up his Abercrombie charade with the body and the girlfriend and that stupid face, but he also wants Timmy to suck his cock again and, honestly, Timmy has no problem hiding in that closet for a bit. Because that night in the cabin had been--

Fuck. 

\--it had been everything. Foremost, it had been filthy, but Timmy wasn’t opposed to filthy. He wasn’t opposed to someone taking their pleasure from him. Loved knowing he could make someone’s mouth open with need and then blurt out whatever words were buried in the back of their minds. 

But it hadn’t just been Armie’s dick sliding between his cheeks, the head of his cock seeking his hole. It hadn’t been Armie between his thighs, making space and showing Timmy how good he’d fuck him, how he’d make him feel so nice, so full, so fucking taken. It wasn’t just that. 

It was a hand on his belly and lips on his neck. Fingers in his hair and--

Timmy gets to the landing and turns toward his hall. Tries to forget how he sunk into Armie and turned his head. Searched for lips that would never exist against his. 

____

Armie checks his watch at every turn. Makes sure to get back to the dorm with time to shower.

He checks his phone as he strips out of his running clothes. Just a message from Nick to “TALK TO HIM, FUCKFACE.”  
____

When he gets to his room, Timmy can’t ignore the sound of the shower. He drops his bag and locks his door. Leans against the hard metal and closes his eyes. Thinks about what Armie said. 

Clearly, a class is not enough time to think about this entirely--

(To think about what happens after winter break, after the semester. What happens if, after this--because there will be an after--they’re both at a coffee shop and have to look one another in the eye knowing they have seen the others most intimate parts, inside and out.)

\--but it was a review day and definitely enough for Timmy to decide that he’d be okay with a ‘roommates with benefits and a hint of regret’ situation. 

Timmy can’t ignore it anymore, so he doesn’t. He opens the door to their bathroom and the steam hits him like a wave; he wonders if the smell of Armie’s soap will seep into clothes and tonight, if things go poorly, he’ll still be able to smell it, still have some part of Armie to take to bed with him. 

“Armie,” he says and what the _hell_ is he thinking because he walks to the shower and puts his hand on the curtain. Wants to pull it aside and just fucking take Armie face in his hands and taste his mouth--

(FUCK he hasn’t even kissed him. Hasn’t tasted him and felt that heat, those lips, that tongue.)

\--his neck, his jaw. His stupid Cupid’s bow. 

“Timmy?” Armie says and then pokes his head out of the shower. There are suds in his hair and water droplets running down his cheek. Slipping over his jaw and disappearing behind the shower curtain that Timmy finally lets go of so he can push his fingers into Armie’s hair, soap and all, and hold him in place while he leans forward and--

(_What the fuck, what the actual fuck is wrong with you what are you even doing?_)

\--fuck, then they’re kissing and Armie’s tongue is soft but sure against his own and Timmy has half a mind to pull the curtain back all the way and press his body--clothes be damned--against Armie’s. To step into the shower and wrap his arms around Armie’s neck; stand under the spray and let it rain down on them. 

It would feel just like a cheesy movie. Kissing in the rain. Not caring about being wet or ruining his sneakers; just needing Armie to know how much he likes him, how much he wants him. How much he wants to be with him and not just in a shower or a bed or a stupid fucking cabin. Wants to be Armie’s lunch date, permanent study buddy, his lazy Sunday morning company. He wants to go to parties with Armie on Thursday night and rub his back as he heaves into a toilet Friday morning. He wants morning breath kisses. 

It would feel _just_ like a cheesy movie except Armie has a girlfriend and apparently doesn’t want anyone to know he’s gay. Or maybe he’s bi; Timmy doesn’t know. Maybe he’s just into people who are easy. Maybe Liz doesn’t put out and Timmy does. Armie probably heard from Ansel that he’ll do _anything_ with anyone. 

(Which isn’t fucking true and Timmy is stupid, so stupid.) 

They aren’t in the rain. 

Armie turns his head to the side, just enough to speak. “Can you hold this thought?” Armie asks. Timmy’s lips are damp with water and spit; he feels a droplet rolling down his cheek and prays Armie thinks it’s from his hair and not from Timmy’s own eyes. 

Timmy nods and steps back. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s thrilled to see Armie’s eyes are closed and he’s wiping soap off his forehead and temple. Timmy quickly wipes at his eyes. 

“We can--”

“Take your time,” Timmy says and walks back to his dorm. Closes the bathroom door behind him and leans back against it. He feels cold and realizes his shirt is basically drenched, the once warm shower water now cold. He pulls it over his head and throws it in the direction of his hamper. Walks to his dresser and opens it just as the bathroom door opens. 

He turns and there’s Armie; hair tousled and wet. Towel slung low on his hips and Timmy has every intention of turning away and finding a shirt, but then Armie smiles and it’s like nothing he’s seen before. 

There’s no playful wink or sarcastic grin. This smile explodes on his entire face and Timmy doesn’t even think. Strides across the dorm in two long steps and forget the rain, forget the shower, forget Armie’s stupid (not stupid, perfectly lovely, so nice, Timmy is such an asshole, _fuck_) girlfriend. His hands find Armie’s cheeks and he’s pulling him down into another kiss. 

It’s chaste but hard and Timmy feels reluctance from Armie. He seems stiff as he leans down and Timmy pulls back to kiss his jaw, his neck. Runs his hands down Armie’s chest, reveling in the slight fluff of his freshly washed chest hair. “Timmy,” Armie whispers, but Timmy’s hands have already found their way to Armie’s sides. Slip down a few inches until he can feel the damp towel on his hips. 

He slips a hand to Armie’s front, runs his fingers along Armie’s abs, feeling him shiver as he does, and whispers against his collarbone, “Nobody has to know, right?” He grips the towel and tugs Armie closer; kisses his way down to his nipple and then swirls his tongue around the hardened bud, closing his lips around it and sucking softly. .

He looks up at Armie whose face is now expressionless. “Is that what you want?” he asks when Timmy straightens up. 

Timmy nods and, fuck, he needs to have Armie’s cock in his mouth soon or he’s going to cry. Cry from desire or maybe from the words that spill from his mouth, words he tries desperately to believe in, to want. “I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our secret,”

Armie’s nods. Swallows and looks away like he doesn’t want to look Timmy in the eyes right now. Timmy doesn’t blame him. He’s about to cheat on his girlfriend--again--and this time he doesn’t have the adrenaline rush of being stranded in a blizzard to hide behind. His hands rest on Timmy’s shoulders and Timmy’s felt this move before, so he doesn’t fight it.

He sinks to his knees just as there’s the sound of a door slamming from the adjoining room. Armie’s room. “Armie?” a woman’s voice calls out.

It’s Liz. Of course it’s Liz.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, we have a lot of chapters to go. Like, many. There is going to be a lot of miscommunication (and dick.) I'm sorry.

Timmy looks up at Armie, then behind him at the open door linking their rooms. He stands quickly and says, “I have a paper to write,” the words slurring from his lips as he swallows saliva. 

God, he’s pathetic. Mouth already watering thinking about having Armie’s cock in his mouth. About being on his knees for him and actually able to _see_ the skin he’s tasting, that he’s touching. Being able to see the look on Armie’s face and--

“I didn’t know she was coming over,” Armie whispers. His hand is on the towel, holding the area where it’s tucked in on itself. 

Timmy shrugs and stares down at Armie’s feet. At his ankles. He’d never noticed--never let himself notice--how thin they are. Maybe the only small thing on him and Timmy wants to aimlessly wrap his hand around them while the rest in his lap during a movie. “It’s fine,” he says. Starts to turn around only to have Armie’s free hand come out to grab his elbow. “Armie, you shouldn’t keep her wai--”

“She can wait,” Armie says, his voice quieter than before. Trying to keep his words in Timmy’s room, keep things between them. He leans down and kisses Timmy’s cheek. Doesn’t pull back. Whispers, “Can I come over later?” 

His words tickle Timmy’s skin and he tries to pull away. Surprised that Armie lets him. Turns his back on Armie and says, “Yeah, whatever,” before walking back to his dresser. Pulling out a sweatshirt and slipping it over his head. Not able to get his arm in the sleeves before Armie’s wrapping around him from behind and kissing the side of his head. “Armie, I--”

“You’re not going to lock me out?” He asks. Slides a hand from Timmy’s abdomen down to the waistband of his jeans. Slips his pointer and ring finger underneath, teasing at the elastic of his boxers. Timmy shakes his head. “Good. Any chance you want to get dinner in a bit?” 

Timmy squirms and pulls away so he can finish putting his sweatshirt on. Tries to imagine sitting with Armie at dinner. Sitting across from him and trying to hold a conversation. Learning more about Armie and, probably, growing to like him even more. Letting Armie know more about him and, more than likely, trying to impress him. Trying to make Armie see that he’s better than any girlfriend--any _person_\-- Armie could have.

Embarrassing himself when he fails miserably. When he fails miserably and Armie finishes his nice guy duty of taking Timmy to dinner and humoring him for a half hour before going back to one of their dorms so Armie can just take what he wants from him, take what he wants because Timmy will give him everything. 

“No, I’m--” Timmy swallows, but his throat is dry. He turns and leans back against the dresser. Looks up at Armie, whose mouth is slightly open. His tongue darts out to moisten his lips and, briefly, Timmy thinks Armie is going to lean down and kiss him. Demand he go to dinner with Armie. Ask for more. God, his eyes look so open and warm and-- “I’ve got to write this paper. Just going to bring my food back here,” he explains. 

“Alright,” Armie sighs before retreating to his room.   
_____

Liz doesn’t even sit up when Armie slams the door shut. Lifts her head from Armie’s pillow and asks, “So, why is it I had to hear from Nick--who, by the way, leaves out all the juicy details--that you didn’t just get _stranded_ with that freshman--”

“Timmy,” Armie offers, but his words are rolled over by Liz’s fake indignation. 

(If he _had_ told Liz, she would have cut him off like two sentences in. Wrinkled her nose and held a hand up. “I don’t need to know all that. Did you finally get to suck a dick? Did you fuck? Were you safe? Was it good?” 

She would have gotten the facts and then moved on to the next topic. It wouldn’t have been a big deal.)

“--but you actually hooked up with him in a haunted cabin?”

Armie rolls his eyes and grabs boxers from his dresser. Manages to slip them on under the towel. “It wasn’t haunted.” 

“Mmm, not even with the ghosts of dicking future?” 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Armie says. He throws the towel at her and she laughs. “Anyways, I didn’t _tell_ Nick anything.” It’s not a lie. Nick just knows. Knows when Armie has done something he’s not proud of, even if he liked it, if he wanted it, if he’d probably do it again in a heartbeat. Apparently, will be doing it again in a few hours. “Nothing happened.”

Liz makes a noise and finally sits up. Tosses the towel into Armie’s hamper. 

“Seriously, nothing happened,” he says. He’s heard whispers about Timmy that aren’t rumors but they are waves in a reputation. He thinks they started from Ansel’s lips--

(Ansel, who gave Armie a weird feeling, who steered Timmy away from Armie in the parking lot, who was all over Timmy at that party and then suddenly fell silent on the subject. God, Armie really is stupid.)

\--and he doesn’t want to add to those waves. Knows Liz and Nick wouldn’t spread anything, wouldn’t tell a soul, but he just doesn’t want anyone to know the details. Wants to keep that between 

“Right, so is the freshman--”

“--Timmy--”

“--right over there?” Liz grins and drops a quick look to Armie’s bare chest. “In that room you just came--”

“_Nothing_ happened,” Armie repeats. “We just talked. You know, like roommates.”

Liz shrugs and gives a cocky smirk. “Wouldn’t know.” She has a studio apartment off campus. Works forty hours a week on top of a full load of classes to afford it. “Anyways, if I had a roommate, I wouldn’t be hanging out in their room in just a towel. _Talking_.” She makes a _face_ that looks like a mix between an eager squirrel and the fucking devil and Armie hates her so much sometimes. 

(That’s not true, not true. He loves Liz, would die for Liz, has done the stupidest shit for Liz, but he hates how she just fucking _knows_ everything all the time. How she just senses shit and basically ruins Armie’s life by knowing him too well. Ugh, it’s like the sister he probably needed and never wanted but still somehow ended up with.)

“Oh, okay,” Armie rolls his eyes. Grabs a t-shirt and pulls it over his head. Liz doesn’t break eye contact with him; he likes that about her. She never gets distracted by his body, his looks. Just sees him. In this case, sees through him. 

She stands up and slips her hands into her back pockets. “If it were me, I wouldn’t be getting right out of the shower and rushing over to see a ,_friend_ without getting dressed first. At least without brushing my hair.” 

Of course she knows. It’s Liz. 

Armie plops into his desk chair and leans back. Sighs but wraps his arms around her waist when Liz sits in his lap and pushes his tangled wet hair back from his face. He bites his lip, then rests his forehead on her shoulder. “He doesn’t want people to know, okay?” 

Liz’s fingers scratch at his scalp and she hums. Seems to ponder the words and form a few opinions, her eyebrows letting on m ore than her mouth does. Asks, “Why?”

Armie thinks about how Timmy had said, ‘Nobody has to know, right?’ like it was a fact, like it was something they’d already decided on. Like he needed this to be a secret, needed Armie to help keep it a secret, and that alone makes him feel like shit for telling _anyone_, minutes later, even if Liz basically figured it out on his own. 

Even if Nick figured it out before anything had even happened. God, Armie really is transparent.

“I don’t know, okay?” 

Liz ruffles his hair and stands up. “Okay, get dressed,” she says. Doesn’t give him an option and walks to his dresser. Pulls out a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and tosses it towards him. “We’re getting lunch, and not that shit at the cafeteria. You need like, actual food.”

Armie rolls his eyes and starts to defend his unlimited meal plan, but Liz cuts him off. “A plate of soggy bacon and frozen pizza is not actual food.” 

He narrows his eyes, but pulls on his sweatshirt. “I’m getting bacon later,” he threatens.   
_____

Timmy doesn’t bring food back to the room. He eats a granola bar and stares at his laptop for an hour before walking down to the lobby and grabbing a Coke from the vending machine. Some Milk Duds. He’s just turning back to the stairs when he sees Nick behind the front desk. Nick, who smiles at Timmy and offers a friendly, “Hey.” 

“Hi,” Timmy says, and puts his head down. He likes Nick, but he knows Nick’s just talking to him now because he’s supposed to. Because he’s on duty and it’s his job to make freshmen feel welcome. He opens up his Milk Duds and puts the Coke in the pocket of his sweatpants. It pulls at his waistband but not enough to distract him from pouring a few of the candies into his hand. Popping them into his mouth and walking by the desk. 

“Seriously?” Nick says. Holds out his hand. “I save you from a haunted cabin--”

“Wasn’t haunted,” Timmy says, words warbled by milk chocolate and caramel. “Just smelly.”

“--and you can’t even keep me company for a few minutes? Share some Milk Duds? Rude, Timmy.”

Timmy leans over the desk and pours a few candies into Nick’s outstretched hand. “Sorry, you just,” he waves at Nick’s laptop where he has some show paused. “Didn’t want to--”

“You’re not bothering me,” Nick says. Pops a Milk Dud in his mouth. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. You all settled into the new room?” 

Timmy nods. “Yeah, I mean. Have to like organize some shit, but,” he shrugs to end the sentence. 

Nick grins. “Nice. Do you need help with anything? I mean, I know Armie can help. Has probably offered to help already. He’s a really nice guy, you know?” He doesn’t give Timmy much time to respond, just keeps going like he’s been rehearsing this. “And, I don’t know, maybe you two got off to the wrong foot--”

“--On the wrong foot--” Timmy corrects, immediately wishing he’d kept his damn mouth shut because Nick blushes and stammers. 

“--Yeah, right got off on--” he coughs, blushes harder. “The foot. Wrong foot, right. But, Timmy, you have to know that Armie is super nice. He’s a _good guy_ and I’m not even just saying that because he’s my best friend. I’m saying it because he does like you, a lot. And he’d kill me for saying this--” and Timmy’s cheeks are probably more flushed than Nick’s now, because why the _fuck_ is Nick going on about this? Did Armie tell Nick? Why the hell would he tell Nick when he’s friends with Liz? Is Armie that stupid?

“Then don’t say it,’ Timmy says and starts to back up, but Nick stands up quickly. Presses his palms together in a pleading prayer, so Timmy stops. This isn’t Nick’s fault. He should hear him out. 

“But he feels shitty about everything.” 

He feels _shitty_ about everything? Timmy wonders what ‘everything’ encompasses. Fucking around in the cabin, cheating on his girlfriend, wanting to cheat on her again? Shit, for making Timmy want to be part of all of that even though it makes him feel terrible knowing that, inevitably, Liz will get hurt. Liz will walk in on them or hear them through the wall or, _fuck_ what if she finds out from someone else? What if she hears rumors about her boyfriend? Rumors like the one Timmy has heard whispered about himself? 

(And, _fuck_, why does it bother him to even think about anyone saying that about Armie? Why is he so protective over him when Armie is the one putting himself in this position? He’s so fucking stupid.)

“He’s still,” Nick leans forward and lowers his voice, even though there is no one else in the lobby. “He’s still trying to figure this all out, okay?” 

Timmy doesn’t really know how to answer. Feels like he might say something rude to Nick if he responds, so he just nods and says, “Want a few more?” Nick does, so Timmy shakes a few Milk Duds into his palm. Says, “I have a paper to write.”

_____

Armie almost walks out of the cafe when he sees Ansel in line at the counter. Almost walks out because he is pretty sure it’s frowned on to punch residents in the back of the head, even if they technically aren’t on campus. He almost walks out, but he doesn’t because Liz immediately says, “I want the California burger with a side salad and you have to at least get something with green on the plate. I’ll grab a table,” she says and walks to the back corner, leaving Armie to slide in line behind Ansel, who’s texting on his phone. 

They’re three back and Armie sighs. Ansel smells like pot and cheap cologne (which is probably being worn to cover up the former smell.)

Ansel tosses a glance over his shoulder, then looks back at his phone. It seems to register who’s behind him because he looks back again and, without sending his text, puts his phone in his pocket and turns. Smiles and says, “Hammer, hey.” Holds his hand out like he’s about to pull Armie into a douchey bro hug. 

Armie stares at his hand and then back at Ansel, who lowers his arms and moves forward in line. “Ansel,” he says and looks away. Doesn’t want to engage, want to be here, want to see this asshole. He doesn’t know what is fact and what is rumor and he doesn’t care. 

“So, Timmy, yeah?” Ansel asks. Looks up at the menu above the counter like he’s never seen it before. “Good roommate, yeah?”

“He is,” Armie says dismissively. Stares at the same menu. 

“Heard you two got stranded? That’s some crazy shit, man. Bet you had no trouble keeping Timmy warm, though,” he says and steps forward as another person orders and pays. 

Armie swallows and tries to ignore Ansel. 

“I mean, you really were trying to steal my roommate, huh? Sloppy seconds, right?” Ansel laughs and then turns. Grins and wipes a hand across his mouth. “Or, I mean, in Timmy’s case: sloppy seconds or thirds or fourths or--”

And Armie is about to lunge forward but there are thin arms around his waist and Liz asking, “Hey, aren’t you the guy they caught with the counterfeit cash,” loudly. Armie relaxes in her arms. She looks at the cashier and says. “I don’t know if you want to take this guy’s money,” leans forward and squints at the guy’s nametag. “Andrew? Oh! Aren’t you in,” she snaps her fingers and rubs Armie’s side. 

Andrew supplies, “I’m in the astronomy class across from you on Mondays,” his cheeks red. 

Armie almost laughs at how good Liz is at this. Know she’ll probably go out of her way to bring a coffee to Andrew on Monday. Invite him to her next party and make him feel welcome because he _is_. God, he loves her. 

“Right,” Liz says. 

Ansel’s jaw it tight and he’s glaring at Armie. 

“Anyways, Andrew, I’m not sure you want to take this, what is it? Angrel?”

“Ansel,” he offers between his teeth. 

“Oh, Ansel here’s money. It might not be legit.”

Armie turns his head and presses his forehead against her temple. 

“Fuck you guys,” Ansel says before rolling his eyes and leaving the cafe. 

Later, Armie is begrudgingly eating half of Liz’s side salad and asks, “Was any of that true?”

And Liz shrugs. Takes a bite of her burger, juices dripping down her cheek. “No, never even met the guy. Looked like a dick, though.”

God, Armie loves her.

_____

Back in his dorm, Armie sprawls on his bed. Tries not to think about how Timmy is next door. Working on his paper and hopefully being just as anxious as Armie is for tonight. 

Tonight. Fuck. 

Armie knows what he wants to do. He wants to talk, but Timmy has taken that off the table. It’s fine if Timmy doesn’t want more than sex. He’ll take it, he’ll take it. He’ll make Timmy want more. 

(Fuck, that sounds awful. He hopes he'll make it so Timmy sees he is more than a fuck, more than a want, more than a dick. He needs that.)

But, fuck. Tonight with Ansel made him regret earlier today. Made him want to pull Timmy off his knees and press him against anything, onto anything. Want to pull his pants down, expose him, and lick every inch of him. Wants to show him that he’s worth being enjoyed, being taken care of. It doesn’t matter if the rumors are true, if he’d be his third or fourth or any-th. He just. 

God. 

It’s pathetic. It’s fucking stupid, but he has spent so many nights jerking off. Pressing the pads of two fingers against his lips and wishing they were the head of a cock. Recently, Timmy’s cock. Toying with his lower lip and letting his tongue swipe so gently--shy, even--against them. Swirling them along the sensitive tips before closing his lips in a kiss. Slipping them into his mouth and fucking his mouth with his fingers. Knowing they’re thick but not thick enough. That the real thing would be so much more and that thought making his cock throb in his hand, making him add a third finger. 

He has spent way too many nights like that. 

God, he was so desperate with Timmy in the cabin and now, after tonight. After Ansel--and he doesn’t even want to be thinking that name, but it’s true--Armie just wants to make everything slow down. Wants to convince Timmy that he can be the one he wants. That he’s nothing to hide. 

That he--

____

Timmy hears Armie. He hears him in his dorm. Heard the slam of the door, the creak of his mattress. Now, hears silence, but knows Armie is there. 

He stares at his computer. He’s supposed to be writing a capstone essay for his Introduction to Literature class, but right now, all he can think about is how warm the bed was in the cabin. How safe he felt in Armie’s arms.

And he’s mad. He’s fucking pissed after his conversation with Nick, but that doesn’t stop him from closing his laptop and sliding his feet across the floor. Opening the bathroom door and walking through the narrow space. Pausing for a moment at the shower and pressing his fingers to his lips. Lips that Armie kissed, that his cock has stretched, that he has kissed, he has kissed, he has fucking kissed Timmy and Timmy licks over the pads before drawing them down his lip. His chin. 

He knocks on Armie’s door and reaches down for the knob. 

Turns it and pulls it open and asks, requests, needs through the gap, “Armie?”


	8. Chapter 8

Armie lifts his head up from his mattress when he hears the squeak of the doorknob, the tremble of Timmy’s voice calling his name. It’s dark in the room save for light coming from his desk hutch, but Armie is certain he could find Timmy anywhere, even in the dark. “Yeah?” Timmy’s thin body, a shadow in the short hallway, rocks back and forth. “Come here, Timmy,” Armie whispers. “Please.” 

He kicks his shoes off and rolls around until he is able to get under the covers. Armie’s jeans bunch up at his calves and his socks are annoying, so he toes them off. Pushes them off the end of the bed and waits. Waits for Timmy to take a few small steps and stand at the edge of the bed. 

From the side of the bed, Timmy looks so tall. Looming above Armie likes he’s in control. As though one step forward or backward could break Armie’s confidence. (And it could, couldn't it?) The comforter feels heavy when Armie lifts it. When he scoots back to make room for Timmy. And it’s cold, so cold as he opens up for Timmy, as he peels back his covers and waits for him to decide. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t make Armie wait long. Leans down, and presses his fists against the mattress, bending at the elbow so he can reach Armie’s lips, asking, “It’s still okay if we kiss, right?”

And Armie nods, remembering how he wishes this was all they’d done in the cabin. Hating that Timmy thinks he has to ask if it’s okay when, honestly, that would be enough for Armie tonight. This bed, Timmy’s mouth, and the air between them. He wants to tell him that much, but words feel like marbles in his mouth and like too much weight on a wet paper towel. One more, two more, three more how many more until everything breaks? 

Armie nods and tilts his chin up to let their lips slide together, letting go of the blanket to slip his hand into Timmy’s hair. To press his other hand against Timmy’s hip and steady his body as he sinks into the mattress. As he spreads himself next to Armie, their lips never parting, instead opening against one another as Timmy pushes his thigh between Armie’s. Wraps his arms around his neck and pushes his body into Armie’s until Armie gets the hint and rolls slightly on his back, enough for Timmy to lean against him, for his curls to fall forward and tickle Armie’s temples, for the weight of his body to steady Armie. 

For the weight of his cock to press against Armie’s thigh, heavy and full and Armie wants to know how long Timmy has been hard. Just in this room, or had he been sitting in his own room, thinking about Armie (_hopefully_ thinking about Armie) while he tried to work on his paper? Having to stop typing every now and then to adjust his cock, to relieve some of the pressure caused by the pleasure of his cock in his pants. “You’re hard,” Armie pulls back to say. 

Timmy hums and pulls up on his knees a bit, the weight of his cock disappearing; Armie misses it. Knows it would take nothing more than him bending his knee to press his thigh against Timmy to get him back. To move things forward. 

It would take nothing more than putting his hands on Timmy’s hips. Rolling them over and taking charge like he had in the cabin. Timmy had seemed to like it and Armie, scared as he was, loved it. Loved it even though he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Even though it was not how he had imagined--

(God, he’d imagined his first time with Timmy a thousand different ways, but never like that. At first, imagined scenarios that would never happen because they were confined to dorms and twin beds. But Armie didn’t want anything to feel real because he thought Timmy was unattainable. He’d imagine them locked in the library together, grinding against one another in a study room. Or maybe in the showers at the gym [which Armie was fairly certain Timmy didn’t have a pass to, but a fantasy was a fantasy. Armie has guest passes] or on the front lawn in the middle of the night. 

Eventually, though, he let himself imagine the impossible. Bodies pressed together in Armie’s shower, exploring one another with soapy hands and dripping lips. On Armie’s desk, Timmy standing between Armie’s legs, grinding against him as papers wrinkled under Armie’s thighs. 

Fuck. On Armie’s ratty couch, watching a movie. Armie’s hand resting on Timmy’s belly. Timmy’s back flush with Armie’s chest. His ass nestled innocently against Armie’s crotch, even though there would be no way he couldn’t feel Armie’s cock slowly losing interest in the movie. Gaining interest in Timmy. 

Gaining interest as his fingers started to trace circles on Timmy’s stomach, through the shirt at first, then daring to slip under. Encouraged to let his movements expand when Timmy hummed and reached for the remote. Paused the movie and rolled on his back. Grinning up at Armie and saying something endearing and simple; something like, “Hey, you,” before putting his own hand on Armie’s and guiding his fingers from Timmy’s stomach to his cock. Holding his hand there, cupping it against himself and saying something to remind Armie that _he knows_ and he _doesn’t care_ and they can go as fucking slow as Armie wants, as he wants. As they want. Something like, “We can keep our boxers on,” that would make Armie feel more confident. Make him harder than he thought possible. Confident as he shook his head and responded, “Want to feel you, Timmy.”

And he rarely made it past that part of the fantasy. In his head, he’d get his hand on Timmy’s cock and, in real life, he’d be coming into his fist, his boxers. Against the shower wall. Immediately feeling regret and shame for picturing Timmy like that. 

For picturing Timmy soft and wanting when Timmy presented himself as anything but.)

\--their first time together. 

He had loved it, even if afterwards, he felt the same guilt he’d felt before when his hand, his boxers, the shower was covered in his own filth. Had wanted to clear his conscience and the air, but instead resigned himself to following the soft rise and fall of Timmy’s body as his breathing evened out and he fell asleep on Armie’s chest. 

He had loved it, and he knows it would take minimal effort to continue what had happened in the cabin. But he doesn’t want what happened in the cabin. He doesn’t want to slip his cock between Timmy’s thighs, something he has done on drunken hook ups with men he was too scared to fuck. He doesn’t want to have Timmy on his knees, something he has let men (and women, before, long before) do before trying to get them off with his hands, his words. 

No, he wants more. He wants something that, when Timmy finally slips from Armie’s grasp for the last time, Armie is able to think back on and remember as _theirs_. Or at least his. Timmy’s. He wants something to belong to Timmy. 

He wants--years from now--to perform the same act with on a random guy he brings home and flash back to this bed, this warmth, this body. Because (and he knows he’s being young and stupid and there will be more, there will be others, there will be equals) there is only Timmy that he wants on his brain, his lips, his tongue. 

Armie closes his eyes as Timmy sits back, his thin ass digging into Armie’s thigh as he does so. “You seem like--”

“I want to blow you,” Armie says quickly before he can change his mind. 

\-----

_Fuck,_ Timmy thinks. He’d been ready to say, ‘You don’t seem like you’re into this,’ because he’d expected Armie to press him into the mattress. Maybe get up to turn the light off, to hide their faces, their truths. 

But, God, then Armie had to go and lift the edge of the comforter up. Had invited him into his bed like he would a lover not the freshman he wants to experiment with, the freshman he wants to--how did Nick put that?--”figure this all out” with? 

And then he’d had to lean up and kiss him and be so gentle as he helped Timmy into his bed. Had to go ahead and state that Timmy was hard like he was surprised. Like he didn’t know Timmy got off on his voice, his smell. He didn’t need more than a grain of Armie to get hard. 

Which had been followed by Armie just slipping away. Seeming to sink into his mind and Timmy thought, _ This is it. This is the guilt. He probably fucked Liz here earlier and got a whiff of her perfume. He’s going to kick me out, and I should back away, I should leave, I should--_

But, no. 

God, no. 

_I want to blow you._

The words repeat in Timmy’s head and his mouth goes dry at the thought of Armie’s mouth opening for his cock. His pink tongue (which, Timmy has learned in the span of a few hours, is very talented) swirling against his flesh, his stupid fucking eyes looking up at Timmy and, _fuck_ he hadn’t been prepared for that. 

He’d been prepared for the lights to go out and for Armie to toss lube on the bed. For him to sloppily stretch Timmy out--maybe make Timmy do it himself--and then fuck him. It would be good. Hell, if it was even a flicker of what had happened in the cabin, it would have been great. 

He’d been prepared for the lights to go out and Armie to guide Timmy’s mouth to his cock. To maybe fuck his mouth--gently, because it’s Armie, but still fucking--and come on his face. Maybe on his chest if he felt like being polite. 

He hadn’t expected Armie to say, ‘I want to blow you,’ and, more than that, hadn’t expected the words--any words--to sound so uncertain on his tongue. 

Timmy nods. Swallows and grips the hem of his t-shirt, then pulls it over his head. Lets it drop off the edge of the bed. “How do you--” he starts, but he’s interrupted by Armie’s hands on his waist. Thumbs stroking along the bottom of his ribs. Interrupted by Armie looking up at him with those stupid god damn eyes and Timmy almost wishes they had turned off the light because, after this, he won’t be able to look at anyone else and not yearn for Armie’s eyes staring back. 

Interrupted by Armie sliding one hand down to Timmy’s thigh between his legs. Fingers coming around the back of his thigh and tugging until TImmy gets the hint and moves so he’s straddling Armie’s thighs. Straddling his thighs so when Armie sits up, Timmy settles into his lap. So that they’re eye to eye when Armie’s warm palms stroke up, up, up towards Timmy’s armpits, forcing him to raise his arms. Wrap them back around Armie’s neck while Armie’s hand stroke back down, settling just above the waistband of Timmy’s pants. 

So that they’re eye to eye when Armie licks his lips and whispers, “Timmy,” and shakes his head like he’s about to say something they’ll both regret. “You’re,” he starts, but he swallows. Pauses to let his eye move to Timmy’s chest, his belly. Back up to his face and his god damn eyes are already saying it and Timmy thinks, _please don’t, please don’t, please don’t tell me I’m beautiful. Tell me I look greedy, that you want to wreck me that you want anything but to admit what your eyes are telling me._

\-----

Armie sighs and reaches behind Timmy for the comforter. Pulls it up around Timmy’s shoulders. “You’re cold,” he lies. Timmy’s skin is warm, flushed. He lies because, right now, Timmy looks beautiful. 

No, no, no. He always looks beautiful, but right now he looks like a beauty that Armie wants to belong to him. Not belong to _him_ but _belong_ to him. The type of distracting beauty you see across a room, that other people see too and you aren’t even jealous when they stare. When they take in the sight of what is yours and want it for their own but, fuck them, it’s all yours. 

The type of beauty that you don’t need in your bed every night. Maybe shouldn’t have in your bed every night because you would get no sleep, no rest. Even with your eyes closed, you’d be thinking about that waist, those lips, those stupid eyes that, right now, are looking down at Armie. Looking down at Armie with an uncertainty that makes Armie lay back down. Use the comforter to pull Timmy with him before slipping it over their heads and letting the warmth surround them. Making a place that is theirs in this stupid dorm hall where, technically, Armie is second on call, and outside there are footsteps and shouts, doors slamming. 

But in here, in their blanket fortress, there is just Timmy’s soft skin and Armie’s lips brushing his shoulder. Timmy’s hair falling into Armie’s mouth and him laughing as he pulls it free. Timmy asking, “Can we just do this for a while?” 

And Armie doesn’t know what this is, but yes. 

He'll do anything for any amount of time as long as Timmy wants it.  
_____

Timmy shudders as Armie’s breath ghosts the words, “Of course,” over his shoulder. As his hands move to Timmy’s back, holding him close as he kisses along Timmy’s neck, waiting for him to situate his arms on either side of Armie’s head, to settle their chests together and press his cock against Armie’s lower belly. Sighs at the momentary relief that is almost immediately replaced by a desire to grind against him. Press back in search of his cock. 

But, no. He wants this right now. Timmy wants Armie turning his head into a kiss and feeling the tip of his tongue against his upper lip. Wants to smile against the touch and open his mouth to him, for him. Almost lets him take control, but then remembers that, at any time, Armie can call this off. That he can push him away, act like he doesn’t know him. 

That Armie could tell everyone about the dumb freshmen who tried to con his way into a roommates with benefits situation. He knows he wouldn’t, knows Armie would never, know he--

“What are you thinking?” Armie asks, moving his lips just under Timmy’s earlobe, sucking softly before swirling his pointed tongue across the skin. Traveling down, licking a hard stripe along his shoulder. Giving a soft bite. 

“Nothing,” Timmy lies. 

____

“Tell me,” Armie sucks on the crook of his neck. Soft, soft, so soft. Doesn’t want to leave a mark, a memory, even though every touch of Timmy’s flesh will be fresh in his mind every single time he tries to sleep at night without Timmy’s body next to his.  
____

Timmy shakes his head and rolls on his side. Pulls Armie with him, and Armie follows. “Nothing, nothing,” he insists. Shifts until his hip is comfortable under the curve of Armie’s waist. Lets his other leg drape over Armie’s thigh. 

Distracts Armie with another kiss. With his hand pressed against Armie’s cheek and the softest of thrusts against him. Minute rolls of his hips and their tongues mimic the movements. As Armie’s hand finds itself in Timmy’s hair again, until his other hand comes to cup Timmy’s tricep. 

Kisses him and sucks on his lips, lets their teeth click together. Giggles every time. Goes in for more and repeats, repeats, repeats until he he’s distracted as well as Armie. Until their movements have forced the comforter to their waists, until Timmy’s small thrusts against Armie have become exaggerated and needy. Until Armie’s fingers are clawing at Timmy, needing and wanting more.

And Timmy is realizing he can do this all night. That he doesn’t need to come, that he doesn’t need to feel Armie’s mouth anywhere but on his own, doesn’t need any breath but the surplus from Armie, that he doesn’t want anything more. That he is going to admit what he wants, what he needs if they don’t fucking stop this and move on. He pulls back to say, “Thought you wanted to suck my cock, Armie.”

____

Armie does. 

He fucking does and he lets Timmy shift them until Armie is suddenly between Timmy’s thighs, the comforter long gone. He takes his time kissing along Timmy’s collarbones, so worried that this might be his only time to touch them, to love them, to--

No, no, he’s not going there. 

He lets his lips find a path down Timmy’s sternum, then back up. Kisses his lips again. His heart is rapid, rabid. “You’re so--”

“Come on,” Timmy whispers.

\----

Timmy hates the feeling, but he can’t have Armie worshiping parts of his body reserved for lovers. He can’t have him kissing his collarbones. He presses a hand to Armie’s shoulder and hates himself for it. Hates that he feels the same pressure on his own shoulder, a pressure he has felt time and time again.

Hates that he’s doing this to Armie. 

“Come on, baby,” Timmy says, and every word feels like a separate language. 

____

Armie lets himself go so easily. Slips down Timmy’s body, missing so many places he wants to put his lips until he is eye level with the bulge in Timmy’s pants. A similar mound in his own is pushed into the mattress and he should just go for it. He should get Timmy’s cock out and put it in his mouth and just figure out what the fuck is supposed to happen. 

But his heart. God, his heart is just fucking pounding and his mouth is dry and he has this constant thought in the back of his mind that this is going to go poorly, that Timmy is going to laugh, that this is going to be bad that he is going to be bad that--

He swallows and looks up at Timmy. 

“I’ve never, you know,” and then glances at Timmy’s cock. 

___

Timmy’s cock twitches. It twitches in his pants and god fucking damnit this shouldn’t turn him on. Because of course Armie has never sucked a dick before. He’s figuring this out, right? He’s experimenting. 

Fuck. 

Armie’s fingers are on Timmy’s fly and he slaps his hand on top of them, the movement harsh, sudden. “Armie,” Timmy says. “Do you,” he licks his lips, “Like, really want to? You don’t have to.” He exhales and says, “We can do other things. Or just keep--”

“I want to,” Armie admits. Then unfastens Timmy’s pants. Pulls them down along with his boxers and lets his cock bob free. “Fuck,” he whispers, eyes nowhere near Timmy’s face. “I want to,” he repeats. Looks up at Timmy and nods. “I want to.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a terrible job at editing this and it's all over the place, but it is what it is. I hope everyone is staying safe <3

The first time Timmy sucked a dick, he was fourteen and his boyfriend would break up with him a week later. His boyfriend--who had spent the better part of the last two months gently teasing Timmy about how inexperienced he was, who would joke, “Come on, Tim, I could do that myself,” when Timmy would give him a handjob, who would make comments like, “You just don’t seem very serious about this relationship,” when Timmy would say he wasn’t ready--would break up with him a week later, two days before moving away for college. 

Would say, “Timmy, come on. You didn’t think this was going anywhere, did you? You’re just a kid,” as if his mother wasn’t at home folding his laundry into suitcases for him. 

The first time Timmy had sucked a dick, it had been rough and embarrassing and he didn’t understand how anyone could ever like doing that. It had taken him two more boyfriends to get it, and then he _got_ it because there was never a teasing word, never a hand on his shoulder, never the look of disappointment when he said he wasn’t ready. He did it when he wanted to and, god, by then he’d really wanted to. 

He reaches down and traces the curve of Armie’s ear. Makes sure Armie is really looking at him when he says, “Okay, but, like, go as slow as you need to.” Hopes Armie realizes he means in general, not just right now. That he can go as slow as he wants, can do whatever he wants and, alternately, not do whatever he doesn’t want. Because maybe he’s just experimenting and, yes, in some way, maybe he’s using Timmy, but isn’t Timmy using him, too? 

_____

Armie doesn’t want to go slow, not really. Feels conflicted about whether he wants to savor every minute or just get it done with. The pit in his stomach feels like it’s being pulled both ways and he wishes that this wasn’t his first time so that he knew what the hell he was doing, knew how to make sure Timmy feel good. 

Wishes he knew how to make Timmy see that this is more than sex to him. That’s _he’s_ more than sex to Armie. 

Remembers the cabin and how Timmy had gone down on him like he wanted to, like he needed to. Had sucked Armie’s cock like he knew it better than Armie did. 

(And, since that night, Armie has wondered how Timmy got so good. How many other men--boys, really, hopefully, god, he hopes not men, not too many men--Timmy has been with. If he had been that enthusiastic with all of them or if was Armie that made him act like that, just as it was Timmy that made Armie push away his self doubt and fuck between Timmy’s ass cheeks, his thighs. 

But he always shoved that thought away because it doesn’t matter, not to Armie. How many? The answer could be three, eighteen, twenty-four, or just raw talent and Armie’s opinion of Timmy wouldn’t waiver, couldn’t change.)

Armie swallows and wraps his hand around the base of Timmy’s cock. Looks up at Timmy once more. Asks, “You’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like?” Hopes Timmy realizes he means right now, in a week, a year (oh, god, let them be talking in a year.)

He watches as Timmy leans up on his elbows, lets his eyes trail down his body. Settling on the softest fold of his belly and wants to kiss him there, so he does, smiles against Timmy’s warm skin when Timmy counters, “Will_ you_ tell me if we’re doing something you don’t like?”

And his tone is almost aggressive, needy, but it’s the nicest thing Timmy has said to him in months, and Armie nods. Tentatively presses a kiss to the underside of Timmy’s cock, his own twitching against the mattress when Timmy gives a helpless grunt of surprise. Admits, quietly, his lips brushing against flesh that he never could have imagined would feel so soft, “I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t like doing with you.”

Then, he takes the head of Timmy’s cock in his mouth and closes his eyes.   
_____

The first time Timmy got his dick sucked, he was fifteen and it was in the back of a Ford Focus and the guy was crouched over him in such a way that he couldn’t see anything, could just feel the sudden wet heat and a hand moving way too fast like it was a race. 

And, really, he can’t recall if anyone has ever taken their time sucking his cock; usually it’s a means to get him hard and talk him into other things or it’s an afterthought like, “Oh, you want to come, too?” 

So, watching Armie’s lips close around his cock is enough to make his arms almost give out and send him collapsing back into the pillows. Not quite, though, because the idea of missing the way Armie’s eyes close softly, his eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he takes Timmy in. As his tongue tentatively cups the underside of his cock. Gives a gentle twirl before he pulls back and licks his lips. Tries to sink down, but his lips feel dry and they catch on Timmy’s skin and he makes the decision right then to make sure Armie doesn’t doubt himself, doesn’t hate this, doesn’t question anything about this moment. 

_____

Armie’s throat feels dry and he doesn’t get how Timmy made this seem so easy in the cabin. How he swallowed Armie down like it was nothing and his mouth had been wet, sloppy. 

For the shortest of moments, Armie wonders if this will be weird later. If Timmy will decide he doesn’t really want to do _whatever_ this is with Armie. That he’ll decide whatever happened in the cabin was a fluke and maybe Armie’s not worth it and he knows he’s overthinking this but he can’t help but--  
_____

“Spit on me,” Timmy whispers. “It’s okay.”

Armie pulls back and looks up. “What?”

“It’s easier then,” Timmy says, then cups his hand under his mouth and spits into it. “Here,” he says, and reaches down. Bumps Armie’s hand out of the way and slicks his cock with his spit; blushes as Armie just stares. Stares as he gives his length two solid strokes, the wet slide deafening in the room and, god, what if Armie thinks this is weird, what if--

_____

\--_fuck_. 

Armie wants to kiss Timmy so badly right now, but instead he pushes his hand away and opens his mouth around his cock. This time, his lips slipping right down and, before, Timmy’s cock had tasted clean. Musky. But now, it was something more. Like every part of Timmy rolling together and tucking its way behind his molars, under his tongue, into his throat. And he can’t help but moan at the taste, at the feeling of Timmy’s cock easily sliding across his tongue, bumping the roof of his mouth and making him pull back an inch, two. 

Take more of him in and then he feels Timmy shifting. Looks up to see him pulling another pillow behind his back, propping himself up before reaching down to push Armie’s hair from his face. His lips are wet with spit, open just enough for Armie to see his teeth and, god, why is he thinking about Timmy’s teeth right now. But he likes that they’re not perfect and how it might be the only part of Timmy that _isn’t_ perfect but they somehow make him look even more beautiful and--

_____

“Feels so good, Armie,” Timmy says. Knows he’s heard the same sentiment from other men, but it’s come out harsh, rude. Like someone just wanting to hear their voice. Timmy hopes Armie doesn’t feel that way. Wants him to know it feels good, that he’s doing fine. 

Great, even, but Timmy may be a bit biased. Is pretty sure Armie could have just kissed the tip of his cock and that would have been enough, because Timmy doesn’t know how he ended up here with Armie between his legs, with his mouth on his cock, with one of his hands moving back to Timmy’s cock while the other grips his hip bone and--

____

Armie’s abs tighten when Timmy says, “Armie, you’re so--you look so--”

And he sinks down further, Timmy’s spit easing his way, but finding that the wider Timmy’s legs spread, the harder his hand grips Armie’s hair, the more he offers gentle encouragement--

Well, it all makes Armie salivate. Makes him suck harder on Timmy’s cock and swallow around him. Try to keep his spit from trailing down Timmy’s cock, from leaking onto his chin, dripping onto Timmy’s thighs. 

But, fuck, what if Timmy wants that? What if he wants it to be sloppy and filthy and--

Fuck, he almost forgot what Timmy had been stuttering, and then he finishes with and awkward--

_____

“Good. You look, fuck, so good,” Timmy hisses and he releases Armie’s hair. Feels bad for pulling so hard and strokes his scalp while Armie starts sliding his mouth along the length of his cock. Repeats, “So, fuck, so good, Armie,” but he means beautiful. He means he looks perfect and like everything and more than Timmy imagined, ever imagined, ever wanted, ever needed. 

God, he’s so much more than that as he works along Timmy’s cock. Tongue fluttering on his flesh and lips impossibly tight. Shallowly sucking him while his hand twists at the base and---

“I’m not--” Timmy starts to warn, but he already feels the embarrassment of his early release seeping through his body. “Fuck, Armie, you. God, I’m not gonna--” he whines as his hand slides to Armie’s shoulder. Grips the muscle and squeezes.

____

Armie looks up at him (and, fuck, no one should look this good. Biting the inside of his cheek and trying so hard to keep his eyes open and, _fuck, don’t put that much thought into why, don’t think about how he is keeping his eyes open to look at you, to watch you, to maybe remember this moment_) and sucks a bit harder, tries to work his fist in time with his mouth. Finds himself consumed by stroking the soft skin of Timmy’s hipbone. Knows he’s clumsy, that he keeps having to stutter stop and start again, that he has started literally drooling on Timmy’s cock as he feels his muscles tighten under him, as he feels him seeking release, not caring what he has to do to get him there as he hears him say, “Armie, fuck, Armie, Armie.”

And it feels too close, too intimate, and Armie knows he should push away, but instead takes Timmy in as far as he can, feels his his fist against his mouth and then a sudden rush of bitterness on his throat, the roof of his mouth, his tongue. Pulls back, but tries to keep his mouth around Timmy’s cock, tries to hold his come in his mouth and thinks how, if this was Timmy, he’d probably be swallowing around Armie’s cock. Drinking him down and moaning at the taste. 

But now, right now, he wants it but it’s a shock. A shock that Timmy came so quickly let alone at all (because _that_ was a nightmare Armie had honestly worried about. Not being able to make him come, not being good enough.) That his fingers are digging into Armie’s shoulder and he’s making these _noises_ that don’t even sound human and then--

____

_Fuck_. Timmy feels like he could sink into the mattress. That he could be one with the bed and just live here now, with Armie’s mouth filled with him come, holding his cock in his mouth and just. 

Just aimlessly stroking Timmy’s hip, still.

“Jesus,” Timmy whispers, “I’m sorry that was--” and he watches as Armie pulls back. As he snaps his lips together and wipes at a stray drop of come on his lips. As his throat stays still and, “Oh,” Timmy whispers. Sits up and looks around. Sees a coffee cup--a cafeteria coffee cup--on the floor next to his bed and grabs it. 

Holds it out to Armie who spits. Timmy’s come slipping from his lips. Spits again, this time the liquid running clear and Timmy tries not to think about how, if it were him, he’d swallow all of Armie down. Actually, no, he’d probably let his come sit in his mouth for a bit, let it sink into every taste bud so that in the morning his mouth would be Armie’s and maybe Armie would be his. 

Timmy looks down at the coffee cup. Says, “You know, if an RA caught you with this, you’d be in so much shit.”

Then he smirksup at Armie, who sits back on his haunches as Timmy sets the cup back down beside the bed. 

____

Armie hates that he didn’t swallow. That the first spurt hit him in the top of his throat and almost made him gag at the sudden shock. Didn’t know what to do until Timmy offered him the cup. And now, he’s sitting up and Timmy is naked and spent below him and Armie, god, he wonders how weird Timmy would think it is if he leaned over and took the cup, brought it to his lips and--

But then Timmy is reaching out to touch him and--

____

“Armie,” Timmy whispers, and Armie looks down. Watches Timmy’s hand trace the bulge in his jeans, his cock straining against everything that stands between him and Timmy. ‘What do you want?” 

And Armie doesn’t know how to say he’s going to come if Timmy so much as looks at his cock, so he moves into a kneeling position and uses his palm to press Timmy’s hand firmer against him. Pleads, “Just keep--”

Timmy nods and sits up, his eyes trained on Armie’s face, lips still parted. God, Armie wants to lick his teeth, so he does. Leans forward and swipes his tongue over Timmy’s incisors as Timmy palm presses up and down his cock, slides over his jeans. And Armie leans in for a full kiss, but Timmy moans and says, “Fuck,” against his lips. 

“What?” Armie worries. 

“Just,” Timmy runs his tongue over his teeth then answers, “Like tasting me in your mouth,” he whispers, then deftly captures Armie’s mouth with his as he flips the button of Armie’s jeans open with his thumb and pushes his hand inside. Cups Armie through his boxers and turns his head enough to kiss Armie’s cheek, breathe, “Love it, even,” in his ear--

___

_Love it, love it, love you and how you’re going to come from my cock being in your mouth and my hand barely touching you, love how you don’t want anything more than this, than me than--_

____

\--and, fuck, Armie comes, wetness seeping through his boxers as his hips jerk against Timmy’s hand and he means to reiterate Timmy’s statement but just ends up repeating, “Love, love, lo-ve,” as Timmy palms him through his release. 

“That’s it, Armie, come for me, love it when you come for me.”

“Fuck,” he says because he needs to clear the air, needs to get a new word out there, needs to stop himself from admitting too much because Timmy is wrapping his arms around Armie’s neck and pulling him in closer. 

Leaning back and Armie puts a hand against the mattress to steady them as they settle against the hard mattress. Braces himself above Timmy for a moment before Timmy gives a bit of a tug so that Armie’s chest is flat against Timmy’s, his weight threatening to be too much, but Timmy is just spreading his legs wider and pulling Armie closer like he needs him. Needs his body and his tongue and his arms are tight around Armie and it feels so intimate, so close, too close. 

He imagines that if they were more than whatever this is, he might eventually doze off like this. Might not care about the filth in his pants and, god, he wants to be filthy with Timmy. Have a lazy Sunday where they don’t want to shower and their hair stands at odd ends in need of a good shampoo and they make excuses to keep watching movies and touching under the blankets. 

But they aren’t going to do that. 

This isn’t like that and Armie should probably not let himself get carried away with thinking this was anything more than getting Timmy off. 

“I need to--” Armie starts to pull back. Finds resistance in Timmy’s arms, but keeps pulling away until he can sit back. “I need to clean up,” Armie whispers and then he’s slipping out of the bed. Standing next to it and looking at the rise and fall of Timmy’s chest. The dip of his stomach, the curve of his soft cock against his thigh, and he wants to nuzzle back in. 

Asks, “Will you stay?” so quietly that Timmy could easily ignore the question if he wanted. 

____

Timmy shouldn’t. He should go back to his room, should get in his own bed which is likely ice cold right now. Will feel like a wake up call and keep his eyes open for hours. 

But he’s so tired and everything is so warm and it smells like Armie and _them_. 

And he thinks back to the first time he sucked a dick and how his boyfriend pushed him away afterwards and said, “Shit, I’m going to be late for work,” and left without so much as a kiss. And he shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t let himself think this is anything more than sex, but he’s not doing this for himself, he’s doing it for Armie. So he nods and says, “Of course, Armie.” 

Bites the corner of his mouth when Armie reaches for the comforter and covers him up. “I’ll just be a second,” he says and Timmy waits to hear the weight of clothes falling on tile, the rush of water from the shower before he relaxes and pulls the comforter up to his chin. Breathes in and closes his eyes. 

____

Timmy looks like he’s sleeping. Covers tucked up to his chin and hair a mess on Armie’s pillow. Armie turns the bathroom light off and, for a second, wonders if he should just go and sleep in Timmy’s bed. Not disturb him. 

But then, Timmy’s murmuring, “Armie?” and holding the covers open for him. “Hurry up, it’s cold,” he mumbles, so Armie does, even though all he wants to do is slow everything down. 

He tucks himself in next to Timmy and wants to make a joke about how the bed is barely big enough for Armie to sleep in, let alone Armie _and_ Timmy, but that would be a lie. Would be a lie because he can’t think of anything he wants more than to have Timmy pulling him close and weaving their legs together. More than being able to rest his head on Timmy’s shoulder. 

Can’t think of any bed or surface or situation where he wouldn’t try to make things work for Timmy and he wants to say that, wants to just admit everything to Timmy, but when he says, “Timmy?” against soft skin, he’s met with silence. 

He’ll tell him in the morning.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to be honest. i've lost the motivation for this fic. i'm trying, guys! but, there is a chance i might end this sooner than expected, and i feel bad about it. i just think if i'm going to spend time writing fic, i shouldn't be forcing it into something i'm not into. so, if it feels like i'm wrapping things up abruptly, i'm sorry :(

In the morning, Armie wakes to a mouthful of Timmy’s curls. He turns his head to the side and pats the hair down, nuzzles back in again, resting his cheek against the back of Timmy’s head. Lets his hand travel to Timmy’s shoulder, cupping his bicep. Squeezes softly and then wraps his arm around Timmy. Pulls him impossibly close.

And then, he dozes. Blinks in and out of sleep, each time sinking back into Timmy’s body. Every time his eyes open, he registers that Timmy has shifted. First onto his stomach, his face buried into the pillow. Then with his head turned into Armie’s neck. Again, an arm snaking around Armie’s waist. Finally, a leg between Armie’s thighs, pressing gently against his cock. 

Not insistent, probably accidental, but Armie’s body reacts and he scoots his hips back a bit, not wanting Timmy to wake up thinking Armie has a plan. That Armie needs anything except Timmy’s damp breath on his skin and the absent stroke of his thumb along Armie’s ribs. 

Armie kisses the top of Timmy’s head and rubs his back. Slips his fingers against the soft skin leading to his armpit, tickling him a bit and trying to figure out if Timmy’s awake or asleep. When Timmy only sighs, Armie realizes he has time to think. 

Time to think about what to say that won’t make him sound desperate or needy even if, honestly, he is a bit desperate. A bit desperate for more mornings like this, more firsts like last night. For more of Timmy, for all of him. 

And--he doesn’t want to dwell on it, but he can’t help it--desperate to know why Timmy wants to keep this all a secret. Nick already knew, Liz already guessed it. And Armie? Well, Armie is more than ready to try and remember his Facebook password in order to make their relationship official. He was ready to be that annoying campus couple who did laundry together and hogged all the washers, who took one throw away class every semester so they could sit next to one another. 

And he feels dumb for wanting so much and settling for whatever this is. 

He has to tell Timmy that he can’t do this. 

______

Timmy steels himself against the brush of Armie’s fingers. Knows he has probably overstayed his welcome in this bed, in Armie’s arms, but can’t help trying to ignore the urge to jerk away from the ticklish touch, to laugh and whisper for him to stop. Can’t help but sigh into Armie’s body and hope that Armie doesn’t have a morning class. 

Or, God, a morning date with his girlfriend. And if Timmy hadn’t already been awake, that would have forced his eyes open.

And now, the warmth of Armie’s embrace seems like too much. He feels like he’s overheating because Liz could walk in at any second. Timmy knows she stops by in the mornings sometimes. He can’t stand the idea of Liz walking in and seeing them like this. Can’t stand proving all the rumors true. 

He traces his fingers up Armie’s ribs, then back down. Tries to memorize the feelings on his fingertips before pulling back and tilting his head up. “I should get--”

But then Armie’s closing the space between them and kissing him. Just lips, hardly even moving, and Timmy lets his hand trail to the middle of Armie’s back. Feels the dip of his spine and thinks how nice it would be to just lay here. To lay here and find every other dip and curve of his body. To take things slow, slower. 

Timmy whispers against Armie, “Armie, I should probably--”

“You should probably kiss me again,” Armie teases, and then opens his mouth against Timmy’s lips; Timmy is slow to react because he’s not used to being kissed in the morning. Not used to to being with someone in the morning and can’t help but think about how he didn’t brush his teeth last night, but Armie seems insistent, sliding his tongue along the crease of Timmy’s lips until they open to him. Until he can slide their tongues together and Timmy’s worry slips away when Armie moans into his mouth. When he feels his cock pressing against Timmy’s thigh. 

When Armie seems to back away to give Timmy space without breaking the kiss. Silently telling Timmy this is it, this is all he wants and--”I wish we could do this all day,” Timmy admits quietly and--

______

\--Jesus Christ of course. 

Armie gets it now. Gets it as Timmy’s mouth moves slowly against his own, as his tongue tentatively traces the roof of Armie’s mouth, the border of his teeth. As he slides his hand down to the small of Armie’s back, then back up, never letting his hands stray below the belt line. 

Of course Timmy wishes they could do this all day. Didn’t think, last night, that he was allowed to come into Armie’s room and just kiss. And the last thing Armie wants to think about right now is Ansel, but he can’t help it. Can’t help remembering what Ansel said about Timmy. _Good roommate, yeah?_

Armie presses their lips together once more, then pulls back. Sits up and smiles as Timmy leans back against his pillows. Timmy looks just as disheveled as Armie had hoped he would. Curls spilling over his forehead, sticking straight up. His lips are swollen with sleep (and kisses, Armie supposes, and he wonders briefly just how swollen they would get if he just laid back down and kept kissing him, how swollen if he bit them and sucked on them, if he didn’t let them rest, didn’t let Timmy rest, if he gave him his day of kisses that spilled into night.

Another thought--as distant thought that he squashes immediately--flits through his mind and he wishes that cabin had been better lit. Wonders what Timmy’s mouth had looked like after that had happened in the dark.) and he looks soft, happy. Eyes a bit cloudy with sleep and Armie can’t help but reach down and push his hair from his face. Trace his lower lip with his thumb, then stroke his cheek. “Morning,” Timmy smiles up at him and there’s the hint of that first smile. That first look in the parking lot, but it sinks into a neutral expression quickly. 

And Armie wants to tell him he’s beautiful and that he wants to wake up like this every morning, but instead he asks, “You wanted last night to happen, right?”

Timmy rolls his eyes and his exterior seems to firm up. He pushes himself up on his elbows. “Did I want you to suck my cock? Everyone likes having their--”

“No, no,” Armie rolls his eyes. “Like, you don’t think you have to--”

And Timmy huffs a sigh and pushes the blankets away. Starts to sit up, but Armie puts a hand on his chest. “Armie, if you’re having second thoughts about all of this, it’s fine. I’ll just go and it’ll be done and I won’t say anything to your girlfr--”

“Will you fucking _stop_ with that? It’s mean, okay?” Armie says, because he’s tired of the joke, he’s tired of Nick being brought into this, he’s tired. “Listen, I just want you to know that, like, if you want to slow down, we can.”

They blink at one another, and then Timmy asks, “Doesn’t that like, defeat the whole purpose of--”

“I’m not _like_ Ansel, okay? I’m not going to tell anyone, but I also don’t, like--” Armie swallows and reaches out to touch Timmy’s neck. “I like you, okay?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re--”

And then there’s a pounding on the door. A fist, hard. Twice. “Hey, Armie,” Nick calls. “Get up. I need your help.” 

Now, it’s Armie’s turn to roll his eyes, because seriously, the timing of this is not ideal. “I’m _busy_, Nick.”

Another pound and, “Okay, well there is a fucking situation on another floor so make yourself un-busy.” 

“Fuck,” Armie hisses, and he’s up. Grabbing his boxers and pulling them on. “I’m sorry, Timmy, I just--”

“Yeah, I know, it’s fine.”

He finds sweatpants, a t-shirt. Pulls them on and says, “It’s not fine, okay? I want to talk and--”

“Armie, it’s _fine_. Go do your job,” Timmy says and he starts to slide his legs out from under the covers, his thin ankles and knobby knees coming into view and--

“Wait!” Armie says. Slips his flip-flops on and grabs his keys. “Just, please wait. Will you?” 

Timmy tucks his legs back under the covers. “Here?”

“It should only be like, ten minutes. Please. I want to--”

“Okay.”

Armie smiles. “Okay.” 

And then he’s gone.

_____

And then he’s gone, and Timmy is alone. Alone with their soiled blankets and Armie’s room. With his textbooks stacked on his desk and a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. 

Timmy pulls the comforter up to his chin and spreads his legs out. Scissors them, then folds them up, tucks his chin into them under the weight of Armie’s blankets. Thinks about how he’s waiting here for Armie.Tries not to think about how Armie brought up Ansel because he knows he’s not like Ansel. 

He already fucking knows that. He knew that in the cabin when Armie pressed his cock against Timmy’s hole, but not further. Promised he would want to do it later, knew that Timmy would be so sweet when he did. 

And he would, he will. But he said ‘later’ like they had plans, like he had a plan, like he’d thought about it, and Timmy knew he wasn’t Ansel, knew he wasn’t anyone else but Armie. 

_Armie._

Timmy smiles and buries himself in Armie’s pillow. Suffocates himself with the warmth of the bed. 

Is starting to think about getting up and getting dressed, to try and settle his hair and brush is god damn teeth when he hears the door slam open. 

The shuffle of feet and Liz’s voice. “Fuck, Armie, move over,” she says. The door slams shut and there’s a slight weight flopping next to Timmy. “My date last night was fucking awful and then I woke up next to a fucking troll and if you even think of speaking for like, the next two hours I will--”

And then she seems to stop. Her body on top of the comforter pressed against Timmy’s. Timmy feels a muffled hand on his shoulder, his waist. 

“Armie?”

He stays silent, but then hands tug the comforter down to reveal Timmy’s messy hair, his bare shoulder. Timmy looks up. Blinks at her and, god, she’s pretty. She’d be perfect with Armie. Even with no makeup and her hair slipped into a messy bun, she’s beautiful. But she seems even more attractive when her face soften and slips into a smile. “Timmy,” she grins. 

She grins and Timmy pulls the covers back up. Isn’t really sure what is going on, but says, “I can explain, really. It’s nothing, we just--”

And she cocks her head to the side, her lips forming a firm line. “Nothing? What do you mean?”

“I mean this, me. Armie and--”

She shakes her head and stands up. She’s in a wrinkled black dress with pleated sleeves. Barefoot. “What the fuck do you mean you and Armie are--”

“I mean we like, fucked around but it didn’t mean anything,” Timmy assures her, his voice much higher than he wants it to be. Armie’s blankets are warm and his skin feels hot and his palms are sweating because Armie is supposed to be here. They’re supposed to talk. He’s not supposed to be talking to Armie’s girlfriend who is--

Fuming. 

She’s absolutely fuming. 

“What the actual _fuck_ do you mean it’s nothing? It better fucking mean something because Armie fucking likes you and--”

Timmy shakes his head and puts his hands up. “What?”

“What the fuck do you--”

“What the fuck?” TImmy asks and he feels cold, solid. 

Confused. 

He watches Liz swallow. Shake her head and say, “He really fucking likes you,” like she wants the words to feel like daggers, and they do. 

“He does?” 

Her face softens and she nods. “Of course he does. He’s liked you since like,” she shrugs and laughs like that’s an ending to her sentence. 

Timmy thinks about the parking lot. About Ansel, about the cabin, about last night. About all the moment in between and, “I have class,” he lies. “I have to go to class.” He glances down at the blankets pillowed around his crotch, then back at Liz. 

She steps back and slips into a pair of flats by the door. “Oh right. Yeah.” 

Her hand is on the knob when Timmy has to ask, has to know. “So, like, you and Armie never…”

And she laughs. She actually laughs. Touches her hair like she doesn’t know what to do with her hands. Shakes her head. “Me and Armie? No.” 

He swallows and nods. Watches her slip out the door, then slides out of Armie’s bed. Finds his clothes, but doesn’t bother to dress. Just pools them in his arm and goes to the bathroom. Drops them on the floor and starts the shower. 

Locks the door to Armie’s room and presses his back against it. Thinks about Liz and how, apparently, she isn’t dating Armie. Thinks about last night. The steam starts to fill the room. Thinks about the parking lot and how he wants to get back there, how he wants to live in Armie’s bed, but Armie wants to keep him a secret, wants to keep this a secret. 

Licks his lips and steps into the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i deleted my tumblr. then i...got it back. so, yes, i'm back on tumblr and it's still bartbarthelme, but you'll have to follow me again. sorry, guys.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sexual assault is vaguely implied. It's in the first part of armies first section and can easily be skimmed or skipped.  
2\. I remembered halfway through this fic why I stopped writing it before. Apologies. This chapter is choppy and strange but I have a much better feeling for the rest of the fic.   
3\. Thanks for sticking w me on this one! And a huuuuge Thank you to everyone who listened to me bitch about this chapter constantly for the last few days.

Timmy gets through class. He takes notes, but they’re mainly exactly what’s on the Powerpoints that flash before him. Just muscle memory, eyes gliding over letters and fingers pushing a pencil to mimic them. He knows he’ll have to read the chapter once, twice again to actually get the material. 

He gets through class, even though the entire time he keeps circling back to Liz. To Liz, who looked mad at _him_ not for fucking around with Armie but for not knowing that Armie likes him. To Liz, who seemed to think it was laughable that her and Armie were together. To Liz, that Timmy had been envious of all semester, who he felt bad for because she and Armie seemed to fit so perfectly, yet Armie wanted to sneak around with him. 

Wanted to sneak around with him. Not date. He liked him, just not enough to date. 

He gets through class, but he can’t help but think the entire time how he’s not boyfriend material, apparently, but he’s snuggle in bed material. He’s morning breath kiss material. He’s first time dick sucking material but nothing else. 

When class ends, Timmy stuffs his things in his bag. Throws it over his shoulder and thinks about heading back to the dorm, but he knows Armie doesn’t have class until noon. 

So, he goes to the library. Finds a table on the third floor in the corner and opens his textbook. 

Reads and takes notes, but nothing makes sense. 

_____

Armie skips class. 

He skips class because when he comes back--

(And he should’ve guessed it was Ansel. He should have _known_ he’d get pulled away from Timmy by fucking Ansel.)

\--his dorm is unlocked and Timmy is gone. The bathroom is steamy like someone had just showered, but the door to Timmy’s room is locked. 

He skips class because he brushes his teeth to get the taste of Timmy’s mouth off his tongue. Because he tastes iron from the cut caused by Ansel’s elbow as he pulled him away from his suitemate. Gripped him around the waist, but felt blood starting to pool in his own mouth. Swallowing it down and tilting his head back a bit to keep it from spilling out. Saying, “Calm the fuck down,” as he used his slight height advantage, his obvious weight advantage to pull Ansel away from the fight. Press his chest against the cinderblock wall and hold him in place while they waited for campus security to come. 

Can taste the iron from biting his tongue so hard it bled when Ansel turned his head to the side, cheek pressing into the wall as he laughed, “How’s Timmy working out for you?”

And he would have hit him. He would have hit him and hoped his fucking face bounced off the concrete except he somehow thought Timmy would be upset. That if Timmy found out, he’d be mad that Armie hit anyone because of him. 

So, he didn’t hit Ansel. Just pushed him harder against the wall and thought about how he could hear the campus police coming down the hall, telling bystanders to get back in their rooms, this isn’t a circus. How, after he gave a statement and promised to fill out the paperwork later, he’d be free to go back to his room, his bed, Timmy. 

Free to tell Timmy that Ansel was likely being suspended if not expelled. For getting in a fight with his roommate over--well, Armie probably wouldn’t say what they were fighting about. Didn’t want to bring up anything Timmy isn’t ready--doesn’t want--to talk about. 

(Hopes there is nothing to talk about.)

He skips class because he can’t believe he was so stupid to just ignore everything that happened. Timmy wanting a new roommate, Ansel’s comments. That he hadn’t said _anything_ to Timmy, not really. Because he’d thought maybe they’d fooled around and Ansel was, well, _Ansel_ about it. He hadn’t thought that Ansel could be _this_ much of an asshole. 

He skips his first class, then his second because Timmy doesn’t come back. Because he’s worried that something is wrong. That he did something wrong, said something wrong. That maybe Timmy didn’t actually want last night to happen, that Armie wasn’t very good and--

His door slams open and Nick barges in. Drops his bag on the floor and sinks into Armie’s desk chair. “So,” he grins like he’s in on a secret, a joke. “How’s Timmy?” Wiggles his eyebrows. 

Armie looks away from the book he’s skimming for his Good Books class (and really, is there a worse name for a class than Good Books?) and shrugs. “Don’t know.” 

“What?” Nick asks, gesturing at the door. “I ran into Liz, though! She said--” he extends both hands towards Armie’s bed, “--she dropped by and Timmy was here! In bed!”

At that, Armie tosses his book aside, and sits up. “What? He was gone when I got back. What did she say to him? Oh my god, did she scare him off like she--”

(Because maybe, _maybe_, Liz is a bit overprotective and has, more than once, scared guys off that she doesn’t think are good enough for Armie. And usually--well, always--she’s probably right. But Timmy is different. Timmy is not like Charlie from freshman composition who took Armie on a date to Taco Bell [even though, to be fair, Armie loves Taco Bell] or Simon, one of the locals who brought Armie home to see his rock collection. Which was _not_ the euphemism Armie thought it was going to be. Timmy is not like _anyone_)

“Get this,” Nick laughs. “Timmy thought you and Liz were together.” 

At that, Armie swings his legs over the side of his bed. Stands up and runs a hand through his hair. “What?” he asks, then paces to the bathroom. Knows Timmy isn’t there, so he paces back. “I thought he thought,” and he gestures between Nick and himself, which makes Nick’s head cock to the side like a dumb puppy. Or, maybe he looks more like he thinks Armie is the dumb puppy. 

Nick shrugs. “She said she felt bad because she maybe yelled at him a bit. Or, not yelled, but--”

Armie tosses his hands in the air. “Why?”

Nick, again, shrugs. “I guess he said it didn’t mean anything?”

“Fuck,” Armie says and sits down on the edge of his bed. Of course it didn’t mean anything to Timmy. It just felt like something to Armie because it was a first for him. Because Timmy had been so nice and patient, but of course he was. He’s Timmy. Armie buries his head in his hands. Repeats, “Fuck.”

“No, no, like. He seemed to be freaking out because--god, you two really are stupid--but he thought she had just walked in on like...the aftermath of being cheated on,” Nick says and it sounds comically clinical, which makes Armie snort. “Which, like. She’s not wrong, right? You two _did_ get down to--”

Armie whips a pillow at his head, but Nick catches it easily. Holds it against his chest. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins. “Anyways, so she made it clear that you were into him and that you and Liz were just friends, but she said then he like. Ran off. But, you know. Liz is kinda scary, especially in the morning.” 

“Oh my god,” Armie groans, then throws himself back on his mattress. It’s starting to make sense. The cabin. Referring to his girlfriend. It wasn’t a slight at his weird friendship with Nick. It was Liz. Every mention of a girlfriend was because Timmy thought Armie had an actual girlfriend. That he wanted to keep this secret to be with Armie. To be with Armie even if he shouldn’t. If he couldn’t. 

And he doesn’t know Timmy half as well as he’d like to, but he knows him enough to realize that’s something. That Timmy wouldn’t _do_ that with just anyone. For anyone. Wouldn’t put his morals on the line for someone he didn’t like. That he’s probably been feeling like shit about this the entire time. 

“So, you haven’t talked to him?” Armie shakes his head. Gets a faint whiff of Timmy’s soap, his sweat. Wants to curl into it. More than that, wants to have the real thing. “You guys really need to--”

“I know that,” Armie groans, because he knows this entire mess would likely be nonexistent if they had just talked from the beginning. If he’d insisted on talking at the cabin, once they got back. If he’d just told Timmy he didn’t want to keep things a secret. If he’d just paid attention to his own life for once.

If he’d just told Ansel to fuck off that day in the parking lot. Asked Timmy out right then. 

“Fuck,” Armie whispers. 

Nick stands up and walks over to Armie as he sits up, eyes the bathroom. He puts his hands on his shoulders and says, “You need to talk to him. Because--and don’t take this the wrong way--you two have been incredibly dense. Like, it is astounding to me, actually, how stupid you both have been. Like, the fact that two people got into a relatively good school and are this stupid really says something about standardized testing in America. And I say that as someone who loves you and cares about you and is so fucking tired of watching you make googly eyes at--”

“Okay, okay,” Armie says, laughing and shoving at Nick’s hip so he moves back. Gives Armie space to stand. He wants to talk to Timmy, but he needs time to think first. “Maybe we should get like, food, and then I’ll see if he wants to--”

“Yes, food. Want me to see if Liz is still on cam--”

“_No,_” Armie says as he walks to the door. “I can only imagine the shit she’s going to give me about all of this.”

He doesn’t know if it’s good timing or awful timing, but he hears Timmy’s door slam just as he opens his own. And he’s about to say something about the irony of that to Nick, but Nick _is_ an English major and he doesn’t want to spend the next half hour having Nick lecture him about what is an isn’t irony and how, really, it’s more of a metaphor or simile or something. He has enough to think about.

He locks his door and they have to walk by Timmy’s to leave; Armie is glad when Nick doesn’t make a comment about Timmy being back. When he just starts walking down the hall, sticking his head in the first open door he sees; asking if they want to grab food, too. 

Armie glances at Timmy’s door and his fingers twitch with the desire to knock, but he knows he needs time to think. To come up with the words to say, ‘I’m an idiot, you’re dumb, and we should be stupid together.’

_____

Timmy isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but he had some sort of idea. Had some sort of idea because it’s _Armie_ and he’s a Nice Guy™ so he’d probably want to come see Timmy right away. Ask how his day was, where he went after class. Would make small talk and then probably just wait for Timmy to make the first move. Wait for Timmy to say, “Okay, enough talk,” and sink to his knees for him. 

Wait for Timmy to let him experiment, to--how had Nick phrased that, again? ‘Figure this all out,’ that’s right. 

And Timmy would probably let him. He would let him because as terrible as he feels right now, when he’s with Armie he forgets that. Can only focus on how good his hands feel, how nice his words are. 

How in another life as another person, he might be more than Armie’s secret. 

Timmy isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but he sure isn’t expecting to hear Nick and Armie in the other room. Hear them leave, their footsteps retreating down the hall. (And is he stupid to think that Armie would come and see him right away? That he’d interrupt his day for Timmy?)

But he hears them leaving and realizes that Liz probably talked to him. That she probably went and told Armie how pathetic his little fuck buddy is. And, _God_, did Armie even have to tell them or was it just that obvious that Timmy was so desperate to get with Armie? Did they know about the cabin? How the moment Timmy was alone with Armie he couldn’t help but suck his dick?

He hears them leaving and Timmy isn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. 

He swallows and pulls his pillow over his head. 

He wishes Armie hadn’t been so nice to him because it makes this all feel that much worse. Knowing how soft Armie’s kisses are, how gentle his touches can be. Feeling like Armie actually cares about him but knowing that, even if he likes Timmy, he’ll never be anything serious to him. 

And he thought he could do this, but he can’t. Maybe he could be a secret for someone like Ansel, but not for Armie. 

Maybe it’s the realization that he feels worse _now_ than he did when he thought he was helping Armie cheat on his girlfriend, but Timmy pulls the pillow away and sits up. Eyes the bathroom and whispers, “I can’t do this.”

\----

When Armie gets back to his room, he locks his door. Stands in front of the door to the bathroom and takes a deep breath.

He hadn’t been able to think much about what he wanted to say to Timmy. Nick ended up inviting some quiet transfer student to sit with them--

(Her name is Jordan and she’s a biology major. She’s from Missouri and her favorite band is AFI and Armie now knows more about Davey Havok than he ever wanted to, but that’s fine.)

\--and he spent the entire time nodding and asking questions about a band he didn’t even realize were still making music. And when she wasn’t talking, Armie was mainly thinking about how tired he is. Tired of having to be _on_ all the time. Be there to listen and make friends with people, help _them_ make friends. Be ready to stop fights and solve arguments between roommates. Even when he wasn’t on duty, he was expected to be thinking about other people and, yeah, it makes sense now how he was this dumb about Timmy. He’s constantly having to worry about an entire dorm of people before he worries about himself. 

And it feels strange to have his door closed. He almost always has his door open and the RAs are encouraged to keep their doors open, even when they’re off duty, but he needs to talk to Timmy. He needs to talk to Timmy and not let anything interrupt them. No Nick, no Ansel, no insecurity and stupidity. 

Armie takes a deep breath and pushes the bathroom door open. Takes a step inside and then jumps back a bit when the other door opens and Timmy steps inside, looking like he’s about to barrel through the bathroom. He looks as startled as Armie feels, but he seems to regroup quickly. 

Balls his hands into fists and, apparently, Timmy spent the last half hour doing exactly what Armie had hoped to because he starts talking before Armie can even fully find his balance again. “I know I said we can just keep this a secret--which, obviously you couldn’t even manage to do for a _day_\--but I can’t do this. It was bad enough when I thought you were cheating on Liz--which, by the way? What the _fuck_? Why would you let me _repeatedly_ refer to her as your girlfriend and not correct me? Like what was your goal with that?--but I actually feel _worse_ now that I know the truth. And Liz says you actually like me and, you know what Armie? If you want to be friends, fine, but I’m not going to be involved in some stupid friends with benefits situation with you because either you want to be with me or you don’t--”

“Okay,” Armie says and he tries not to smile, but Timmy is pretty cute when he’s mad. His jaw is tense and his hair is chaotic. There’s a droplet of spit clinging to his lower lip that he licks away when Armie speaks. 

“Okay?” he says, exasperation exploding from his voice. “Okay? I tell you you’ve made me feel like shit and you just say--”

At that, Armie does grin. Steps forward quickly to grab Timmy’s wrists because he honestly looked like he was about to hit Armie the moment he did so. “No, I meant okay to the other thing. I want to be with you, Timmy.” And his grin widens as he watches Timmy’s eyes flash from Armie’s eyes down to his wrists, up to Armie’s mouth like he can’t believe the words that just came out of it. 

“You--what?”

Armie nods and tugs at Timmy’s wrists a bit. Grins when Timmy lets Armie pull him closer. When he lets Armie guide his hands to Armie’s sides. Allows him to duck down and whisper in his ear, “I want to be with you, and I’ll explain everything, but first, can I kiss you?”

“I--_what_?” Timmy asks again and his confused face might be cuter than his angry one. No, it definitely is. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Armie whispers as he presses their lips together. Keeps it soft because he doesn’t want Timmy to think this is more than a kiss. Doesn’t want him to think he’s angling for anything else. He pulls back and laughs quietly when Timmy’s lips chase his for a second. Announces, “We’re both probably the dumbest people on campus but I like you a lot and want to be dumb with you all the time.”

“O-kay?” Timmy asks and Armie can’t help but kiss him again. And once more when Timmy nods, the confusion still present on his face but a tiny smile starting to spread across his lips. 

“Can we go to your room to talk?” Armie asks, and Timmy nods but neither of them make a move to part. Not until Timmy’s hands tighten on Armie’s waist and he leans in for one more kiss. 

“Okay,” Timmy says as he pulls back. Rolls back on his heels and nods. “Let’s talk.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a big fan of this chapter, but i think i'll be a big fan of the next chapter, so i'll take one for the team. thanks for sticking with this fic! hopefully it'll be done before...next winter.

Armie wants to join Timmy on his bed, but given their history--and apparent inability to keep their hands off one another--he opts to sit at Timmy's desk. Leans against the top, folding his arms in front of his chest like a barrier, more for himself than Timmy. 

Timmy sits down on the edge of his bed. Brings his thumb to his mouth to worry his cuticle with his teeth. Looks up at Armie with hopeful eyes. Asks, his voice muffled by this thumb, "What did you want to talk about?" 

And it's cute. It's really cute and makes Armie smile because Timmy _knows_ what they're here for. They're not here for cut-off thoughts and hidden requests. Not here to just tell the other what they want of the other person, just for the moment. 

"Us," Armie says plainly and that feels nice to say. So nice that he repeats it. "Us. Me and you."

Timmy drops his hand to the base of his neck and toys with the skin tere, almost like he's playing with an invisible necklace. Apparently, his fingers can be rough--rougher than Armie has experienced--because his pale skin starts to turn pink." Us?" Timmy confirms, and Armie just gives him a soft smile, and a nod, as Timmy's pointer finger moves further south to tug on the collar of his shirt. "O-kay?" 

And Armie's a bit afraid to talk. Knows how loud he can be, how he likes to fill silences with words. So he just nods again. Pulls Timmy's chair out and moves to sit in it sideways, the back facing Timmy so there's still an obstacle keeping them apart.  
______

Timmy wishes Armie weren't so far away, which is a dumb thing to wish in a room half the size of most people's living rooms. Wishes they didn't have to talk but knows that before he puts his hands on Armie again--which he's going to do (if it's okay with Armie.) He's always been a physical communicator--they need to clear things up. 

Because Timmy doesn't want a surface level relationship with Armie. Doesn't want someone he just gets along with until he doesn't and they go their separate ways. He wants an actual relationship that's more than sex and cutesy dates that, well, usually end in sex. 

He wants to do nothing with Armie. Wants to fold laundry together and not be able to find a movie to watch on a Thursday night. Would love to get in a fight with Armie and know that even if they both go to bed angry that night, they'll kiss one another good morning.

More than that, he wishes Armie would say something, but he just shifts on Timmy's wooden desk chair and nods at Timmy. Nods as if to say he wants Timmy to make the decisions, make the first move. 

"I, like," Timmy shakes his head and has to look away, because he never expected this. Doesn't want his face to convey more than his words. "I'm still pretty confused. And you thought I wanted to keep this a secret?" Armie nods and, at that, Timmy snorts. Runs a hand through his hair and squints one eye a bit as he admits, "I was going to let you fuck me dry in the cabin and you thought _I_ wanted to keep this a _secret_?" 

This time, Armie doesn't nod. Sits up and furrows his brow. Asks, "You know I never would have--never would have done that, right?" Timmy shrugs. He knows that now, but at the time he wasn't sure. Was used to guys being nice to him to get what they wanted. To take what they wanted. "I've never--" 

Timmy's head snaps back at that. Because Armie's voice stops abruptly. 

_____

Nick might be the only one who knows this. And Nick doesn't even _know_, he's probably just assumed. Because Armie never had issues talking about sex back when he was still dating girls. Still assuming he was straight and that physical attraction wasn't something that felt explosive.

Assuming when he looked at other men, it was as a comparison, jealousy. Thought he wanted to have someone else's arms, their thighs instead of just wanting to feel them. 

Because he told Nick just about everything, every time, and looking back he was seeking confirmation that he was okay. That he was healthy and normal. That it was healthy and normal to sleep with a different girl every other weekend, trying to find someone he was compatible with. 

And Nick had listened to it all, tried to offer helpful words, but it wasn't until Armie got _drunk_ drunk one night and ended up hooking up with some guy in a fucking park of all places and Nick said, "Well, I mean, I didn't want to say anything because that's your shit to figure out," and Armie realized he was dumb and apparently excellent at keeping secrets from himself. 

He'd told himself he wasn't going to fuck around like he had before. Wouldn't have sex with anyone he wasn't serious about. 

And then he saw Timmy in the parking lot and he could feel the match being lit when he saw his face, but the explosion didn't happen until he talked to Timmy. Saw his smile and playfulness. Saw the potential of what they could be. 

Maybe it was too much and maybe they moved too quickly in the cabin (but, fuck, every time he'd seen Timmy on campus, in the hall, it felt like tiny sparks), but Armie felt confident about him, even if he maybe wasn't so confident in himself. 

So, Nick might assume, but he wants Timmy to know. 

____

"The furthest I've gone with a guy," Armie admits, "is with you. I didn't really come out until my sophomore year and before that I was just trying to, like,” he shrugs and nods. “Prove to myself that whatever I felt about girls--about women--was just how I was supposed to feel. And, then I realized it wasn’t. And I didn’t want to just keep fucking around with people I didn’t, you know. Feel strongly about.”

Timmy nods, and gives a slight grin, nodding back to the many times Armie has just nodded at him. 

Armie catches on and blinks. Rolls his eyes at Timmy and shakes his head, but smiles as he starts to talk again. “Like, I’ve hooked up with guys and done...things, but I wanted to do more with you the moment I met you.”

“Oh? So this really is just about--”

And Timmy’s thinking this is just sex. That he saw Timmy and immediately thought sex, but--

\-----

“It’s about how I see more in you. Than other people. Which, there is nothing wrong with the other guys I’ve hooked up with--”

“--You just said you hadn’t hooked up with anyone. That I was your--”

“I said that was the _furthest_ I’d gone,” Armie breathes and god. Just talking to Timmy like this is nice. Not trying to hide anything and just pushing it out there. He smiles, because Timmy is biting back a smile. Obviously trying to get Armie to reveal more. “You want to know more?” 

Timmy nods. 

“Fine. I’ve jerked off with, like, two guys. One guy has blown me--”

Timmy cuts in, straightens his back but then slouches right away like he doesn’t care. “Was it any good?”

Which obviously makes Armie snort. “No. I mean, it was good, but it wasn’t--” he gestures at Timmy. “I’m sorry that was--”

“No, I like it,” Timmy admits. Stands up and reaches back to scratch his neck. Sighs at the corner of his room; can’t look at Armie. “Why did you--like. You said you didn’t want to--”  
____

“Because I like you,” Armie says, softly. Scoots the chair so his knees are facing Timmy now. “I like you and I--”

“Why?” Timmy asks, and he’s genuinely curious. Takes a step closer. Holds one arm by his side. Wraps his other around his back to hold his elbow with his long fingers. Knows how this makes his body look. Assumes that Armie might like it. Might like how his frame looks slight, that he seems open. That Armie could just reach forward and push him and he’d likely fall over. 

“Because I like you?” Armie laughs. Reaches back with both hands to stretch his arms against his neck. Pulls his elbows together in front of his body. “Because--when you’re not being a dick to me--”

“I’m not a dick.”

\--you’re funny? And you seem like a good person and like you’re fun to talk to and you’re a bit sarcastic and you seem very invested in school and--”

Armie gasps. 

“And I really like looking at you.”

__

Because he does. And he feels shitty about it, but he _really_ likes looking at Timmy. And he’s about to explain himself when--

“I like how you,” Timmy starts, then quickly brings a hand to his throat like a comfort. “I like how you are nice to people. How you make people comfortable before you are. How you--” he slips his hands up to cup his chin, “I like that you like people before you know they’re worth liking.”

At that, Armie blurts, “I think you’re worth liking.” And Timmy smiles. He smiles like he did in the parking lot and Armie can help but let his face break into a full blown grin. Says, “I like knowing that I maybe want to argue with you and then laugh about it later,” and it sounds so much like a fucking movie that Armie slaps his hand over his mouth, but Timmy immediately steps forward. 

Steps forward and grabs his wrist. Pulls it away from his face and finds Armie just grinning up at him.

___

“I want to laugh about all of this later,” Timmy whispers, and he’s close enough for Armie to wrap his spare hand around the back of Timmy’s thighs. Pull him closer, which makes Timmy stumble a bit, bracing his hand on Armie’s shoulders. Squeezing his wrist tighter.

“I want you,” Armie says, his voice softer than Timmy’s. 

“Okay?”

“No, I want you,” Armie says, again.

And Timmy thinks about every negative thing. It’s like a cold wave that--

That gets hit by a heat gun because, “I want every part of you. And I don’t care how many things we have fucked up, and I know we’ll fuck up a million more. I just want you, and--”

“Okay,” Timmy nods and he lets go of Armie’s hands. Lowers himself to the ground. Grins when Armie’s thighs spread for him and he can nestle between his legs. Wrap his arms around Armie’s waist and pull himself in for what is supposed to be a quick hug (partially to hide the dumb smile spreading across his face), but then Armie’s hand is on the back of his head, fingers running through his curls and Timmy gets the vague feeling that, if the angle weren’t weird, Armie would kiss the top of Timmy’s head. 

(God, he’d love for Armie to kiss the top of his head while they watch a movie. His forehead if they ran into one another on the way to and from class. His cheek, just because. He wants all those cheesy kisses he’s never really received from anyone.)

He lets go and moves his hand to cup Timmy’s cheek as he pulls back, and when Timmy is sitting back on his hunches, leans over to press their lips together. Lets their lips part just enough to ask, “Is it okay if I tell people you’re my boyfriend?”

Timmy doesn’t answer, just leans up to kiss Armie back. Nods before parting his lips enough to lick the seam of Armie’s mouth like he wants entrance, then tilting away when Armie grants it. Grinning when the soft puffs of Armie’s chuckle hit his lips. “I’d like it if you did that,” Timmy says. “I’d like it a lot.”

And then he slides his hands along Armie’s thighs. Can feel his smile get stupidly large when Armie hands moves along his neck. Settle on his shoulders. Thinks about how much he--

(God, he hates how he is. How he gets something good and wants sex immediately. Has worried for so long it’s because he has had so many shitty boyfriends. Wonders if he’d always be like this, if it’s even bad. If it’s just who he is and--)

\-- “I kinda--” he starts. Sighs. 

“You kinda what?” Armie asks, and it sounds like a tease, but in the way Timmy likes. 

“I kinda want--if it’s okay--to,” Timmy licks his lips and shakes his head. “Nevermind.”  
___

Armie strokes Timmy’s jaw. Can see Timmy eyeing his crotch and, god, he wants to be that guy who says, “We should wait,” and actually mean it. But when he says the words, they feel dry. Pointless. Especially when Timmy blinks up at him, then leans down to press a kiss to Armie’s inner thigh. Lets his mouth linger until Armie can feel the heat of his mouth through his pants. “Or, like, I’m fine waiting if--”

“If you don’t want me to suck your cock, I won’t,” Timmy grins and there it is. That playfulness that Armie saw in the parking lot that first day. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to burden you.”

And Armie thinks about how he wishes he’d just asked him out right then. Wishes they’d started things off the right way. That they’d had a chance to do things right instead of getting every step out of order. 

He starts to move like he’s about to stand up and Armie splutters, “I mean--you--I,” while tightening his grip on Timmy’s shoulders. Realizes that he’s basically holding Timmy down and loosens his grip. “Of course I--” he rolls his eyes. Squints them at Timmy. “You’re a little shit. Of course I want you to suck my dick, but you don’t have to if you--”

“Course I want to,” he says and then his hands are on Armie’s fly, working his button up. Pulling at his zipper. “Sucking your cock in the cabin was one of my--”

_____

God, he just about says ‘Sucking your cock in the cabin was one of my all time favorite sexual experiences’ and if _that_ doesn’t make him sound like a slut, Timmy doesn’t know what will. Quickly stops what he’s saying to plainly admit, “I liked it a lot, okay? I _like_ it a lot.”

He grips the waistband of Armie’s pants and starts to pull them down. Expects Armie to lift his hips. Shuffles up on his knees a bit higher and pulls harder, but Armie doesn’t move. 

“Armie, can you--”

___

“I want to take you on a date first,” Armie says abruptly, because as much as he wants this, he really should be the kind of guy who thinks they should wait, even just a little bit. Slips a hand down to cover his zipper, pushing Timmy’s hand away a few inches. “Before we like, do anything. I want to--”

“What.” Timmy looks up at him and narrows his eyes. “But I’ve already--”

“Not as my boyfriend,” Armie says, and Timmy’s expression softens. It softens to the point that Armie can’t help but lean down and kiss his forehead, his cheek, his lips. “I just--we’ve fucked so many things up and I want to do this right. I want to do _us_ right,” and the fact that they’re an us still feels nice on his lips. “Please.”  
____

The imprint of Armie’s lips feels outlined on Timmy’s forehead and he, again, has to look away as he sits back on his haunches. Has to look away because Armie literally doesn’t have to take him on a date. Doesn’t have to try and do things right because Timmy’s just, well. 

Timmy’s a bit overwhelmed. This morning, he thought Armie was embarrassed by him and now, apparently, they’re dating. And he really does want to get his mouth on him again, especially since they’re not in a dark, musty cabin. “You don’t have to take me on a--”  
____

“I want to,” Armie says. Quickly does up his pants, then reaches for Timmy’s hands. Cups them in his own. “I want to take you on a date and hold doors open for you and pay for a meal and--”

“That’s stupid,” Timmy laughs, but it does sound nice. “You’re--”

“I really want to,” Armie insists. Because he does. He wants to spend time with Timmy. Wants to take him somewhere and talk to him. And he could do that here. Could do that now, but Timmy’s on his knees and it doesn’t seem right. Seems like a moment he should stop from happening, because...

Well, because he likes him. Even when Timmy seemed like he couldn’t stand Armie, he liked him. Likes how he rolls his eyes, how he always has a sharp response to Armie’s words. How he stands firm when he probably wants to wither back. 

Armie likes Timmy. Will probably more than like him once Timmy starts to let his guard down, which it seems like he might be ready to do.  
_____

Timmy’s been on dates before. It’s not like every person he’s dated is an asshole. But, he’s definitely never had someone turn down a blowjob in order to go on a date. That’s not how things work, not in any reality, especially not his. 

Timmy sighs. Pretends to be put off, but smirks as he asks, “So, are you going to ask me out on a date, then? So that eventually I can--”

He’s cut off by an exasperated groan from Armie, who lifts his hips and pulls out his phone. Quickly checks the screen and says, “I would love to take you on a date right this minute, but I have to work the front desk in a bit.”

Timmy grins. “You know what we could do before you--”

And Armie laughs and leans forward, covers Timmy’s mouth with his hand. “You’re ridiculous. I’m done at eight, though. Maybe we could do something afterwards?”

Timmy licks his lips and it’s not lost on him that Armie’s eyes seem to follow his tongue, so he does it again. “I’ll have to check my calendar, but I think I’m free.”

“So, it’s a date. Meet me in the lobby after my shift?”

Timmy nods and pulls himself up onto his knees. Tugs Armie close enough so he can kiss him quickly and agrees, “It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> bartbarthelme on tumblr.


End file.
